Behind Closed Doors
by FrostyHeart03
Summary: The love between an angel and his human is profound; moreover, their slow burn longing can be sensed by everyone but themselves. This book describes the journey taken by both males with suggestive subtext taken to the light. This is the Winchester Gospel under a microscope; this is Destiel proof in the form of a book.
1. About

MAIN PLOT:  
 _This story follows episodes within Supernatural in which Destiel could be inferred or expanded upon, developing a behind-the-scenes story of forbidden love, angst, and inner conflict._

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RATING:  
 _Proper warnings will be included before each chapter for triggering themes, major gore, sexual themes, etc. I rated this book M considering these sensitivities and that technically, sexual themes aren't supposed to appear in these books. But it's fanfiction, who **doesn't** these days, amirite?_

 _Considering this, this book may contain underlying homophobia (as much as I hate to write it; I'll explain more in context), slash scenes, self-loathing, self-harm (and everything else you've seen in supernatural already)._

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OTHER:  
 _In between each season finale and start of a new season, there will be various one-shots either suggested upon or thought upon by myself. These can either be one-shots, 'what if's', or a time-filler between seasons. If I like a suggested idea, I may be inclined to expand upon that, so don't be afraid to throw your opinions forward!._

 _There will be NSFW, but with a warning. **The title will have a little [E] next** **to it** s_ _o you don't have to read anything uncomfortable for you. :)_

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 _Happy Reading!_


	2. The Road So Far

**[Introduction/Background information]**

* * *

"The truth is.. I'm not an FBI agent."

A tall man in his mid-twenties smiles awkwardly as he peers downward upon a slim figure. Her body slopes against a stool and it's clear she's trying to remain calm; however she trembles before him. The bar is empty beside the occasional passerbyers as they glance in to check the sign, so the close proximity frightens her. The tall, broad man, however, wants not to scare the young woman; he merely has no choice. As he uncomfortably adjusts the tie on his neck, she struggles to understand the words spilling from his mouth.

This morning, something strange had happened: A man wearing dark skin entered the bar this woman worked at, long before opening time. He wore a dark leather jacket bundled up against the cool morning breeze. His face is stern, gazing forward with unfeeling eyes. She could see him approaching over the rag she steadied in her hands, pausing from the task only to greet him properly."Sir, what are you doing here so early? We aren't even open." she had sighed softly due to leftover exsertion from the previous task. The young adult is used to dealing with all sorts of people; alcoholics, crazy drunks, wackos, the whole lot, which is why it didn't surprise her when the strange man strode forward. He stayed quiet when he stared into her chocolate eyes blankly, which sent an uneasy shiver down her spine. After an eternity of waiting, the well-built man had slipped his hands into his pocket and grunted softly to himself. Something about this man seems off, sending regret deep within her chest; but she ignored it, for meeting strange people is in the job description. The dark-haired woman opened her mouth to speak again only to be stopped when a small ring sounded from the entrance. This time, a young blonde had come forward and placed a hand on the brute's shoulder, twisting it so that he turned around. They stood like that for a moment while the woman stood there chewing a lip. She would have to call this in if they start a fight. "Gentlemen, please." She insisted when the dark-haired man shoved the smaller figure off of him. With the words, it was apparent the men stiffened when they remembered a witness was present. What the tall man does next will haunt this woman for the rest of her life. He turned sharply, blinked, and revealed a set of unnaturally black eyes, in turn triggering a smug grin to inch across his unholy face. The woman could swear she felt her heart stop momentarily as she stared into the eyes of the supernatural. But as the moment passed, he blinked and his eyes were gone, leaving the trembling woman to believe she was seeing things.

This is why Samuel —the tall man shadowing her— is here. It's his job to hunt and kill these monsters. Ever since he was young, his brother and he have been hunting things that go bump in the night. It all started the night their mother burned on the ceiling; Sam was merely an infant but still her golden locks of hair burning and her screams are permanently etched inside their nightmares. Their father went mad with the desire for revenge, therefore neglecting his children often in ratty old hotel rooms with microwaveable macaroni and cheese. At 6, they learned to shoot things, and by their teen years, they had killed more things than many murderers have in a lifetime. From wraiths to ghosts, the brothers were molded into a life of no escape.

"You saw a demon: that's why I asked about the storms and mutilations. Now quickly, his location."

Slowly, the woman shakes her dark brown head of waves until the tips brush her shoulders. Her voice is barely a whisper:

"I don't... I don't understand." She stutters softly, slumping further into the plush bar stool to think. Her drained brown eyes scan the plain brown wals once before her hands come up and cup her face like she's cleansing it. "What the hell do thunderstorms have to do with demons of all things?"

Sam Winchester takes a handful of his chestnut hair and sweeps it out of his face. Behind his calm, brown eyes is a soul heavy with loss. Last year, his only brother— an older man by the name Dean Winchester— was attacked by a hellhound and didn't make it; like demons, hellhounds are creatures that are beyond folklore: They all are. Ghosts, sirens, windigo... mostly everything one can imagine (except for BigFoot, of course). Sometimes, hunters like Sam have to explain these things to civilians under the threat of the creatures. This woman happens to be one of them.

"There's no time. Where did you see the man go?"

"I-I'm not completely sure.." she answers hoarsely, shivering slightly under his height. There was a time in Sam's life where he could be patient enough to sit down and reason with people until they reach an understanding. He was always known to people to be softhearted, kind, and humble to most everything and everyone. However, this was before his older sibling died. This trait was the first to go; with the pressure of reviving his brother, he doesn't have time for such kindness.

Despite the stresses, this is a normal day for Sam Winchester: saving people, hunting things, the family business. Even if he's the only surviving member, he must carry on. At least, that's what his father and brother would've wanted.

Silently, the phone in his back pocket buzzes curiously as a reminder of the man he left behind. Sammy's surrogate dad calls him daily, an unrewarded attempt to contact him. But he doesn't answer, he became a man twisted with grief, a bad place he knows will end him in trouble. He doesn't want Bobby to watch him go through that.

With force, a large hand comes to sit on the fragile chest of the woman as he forces her to lean against the bar, earning him a sizable gasp in surprise. Her eyes glaze over in fear when he towers over her being, his gentle eyes now cold and afraid. He keeps telling himself it's for the greater good, but it's not enough to stop the guilt creeping up his neck.

"I won't ask you again. Where did he go?" Sam's lip trembles as cold words spill from his mouth and drown his witness in distress. When did this job get so muddled with wrong?

"T-Third door.. on the left... I think." She splutters out, relieved when the barbarian removes his hand from her chest. Slowly, he brushes himself off as if nothing happened. By now, he is used to it. "I-I don't get it... why w-would you want to go a-after this thing?"

"It's my job." A shy smile flashes momentarily across the young man's face before he mutters something like an apology under his breath and turns away. This woman isn't a monster— he ran the tests - so why must he be so harsh to her? If he knows the answer, he cannot bring himself to admit it.

 ** _[Not too far away...]_**

Hands scrape the earth, greedily taking in the soil and pushing it aside for a weakened body to slip through. Gasping for breath, his head appears; green eyes dash wildly to his surroundings.

Whilst the Winchester searches for the unholy, his eldest brother is anything but dead. In the same town as Sam's hotel, the older brother climbs out of his grave and walks to a nearby gas station. After trying the knob with no luck, he sighs and looks down. His body is matted with dirt, from his shoes to the flannel he wears around his waist. _His flannel_. With a new idea, he untied wraps the plaid fabric around his hand before punching the glass and unlocking the door from the inside out. The gas station store isn't much, but it beats the hazy heat. Green eyes scan the interior and settle on a stack of water bottles. Everything is basically still in order: snacks and coolers for beverages line the walls, the whole deal.

The first thing fetches is a bottle of water inside a cooler after realizing how utterly dehydrated he is. Without hesitation, he untwists the cap and downs the plastic bottle in a few, large gulps. Dean is left gasping for breath but refreshed nonetheless. As he shifts around, looking for food, he stumbles upon and sink mirror. Noticeably in dirt, he decides that a quick splash of water would have to do for a shower. This is when he looks up and stares at himself: a man who survived the grim reaper and still looks good as hell. His dirty blonde hair is in knots from burial and his beige skin is caked with dirt, but he looks fine. With confusion painting his face, he tenderly lifts up his shirt, completely unsure of what he'll find. What surprises him most is the missing flesh wounds he attained before sent to the pit. After making a deal with a demon, one can expect a hellhound to come knocking at their door 10 years into the future; or for Dean's case, a year. They are merciless, as Dean knows: they had happily shredding his torso to pieces before he closed his eyes for the last time.

But the evidence is void. _How am I alive?_ The only answer he receives is imprinted on his shoulder. Letting his shirt fall, he turns to inspect the strange tingling sensation hiding under his sleeve. Like a nasty broil, a puffy red handprint stains his skin and leaves everything but relief. Dean nor any other hunter he knows has seen anything like this before. What kind of a monster is able to grip a person like himself and raise him from the deep?

...Do you believe in angels?

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 **ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?**

This chapter was to introduce the characters and where they are in occurrence to the storyline. Before reading, it's important to know that Dean was trapped in hell while Sammy spent his time alone looking for his brother.

 _[So yeah, here's a short little background description of what Supernatural is. I know it's pretty vague, so if I'm missing something important, or you have questions, don't be afraid to comment!_ ]  
Source: S4, E1


	3. (S4) In the Arms of the Angel

**[DEAN POV]  
** {S4 E1}

* * *

Dean inhales the dying smell of fresh paint as his forest-green eyes scan the interior of the building. The intoxicating smell radiates from various symbols slapped up on the wall out of desperation. Heaven only knows what can stop a being capable of raising the dead.

Only a few days ago, Dean was saved from a place filled with unparalleled tortures and infinite pain. In addition to his physical trauma, the mental toll weighing on his shoulders is extraordinary. Sure, Dean was freed from hell, and sure, by a mysterious creature with a gentle touch, but it doesn't excuse the mental baggage Dean denies having on his shoulders. The only one who knows of his troubles is himself: himself _only_. Sammy seems too wrapped up in his work to notice, or perhaps he's too scared to ask about it; consequently, this led Dean to his current position. Dean is in search for the creature who was brave and dumb enough to grasp him tightly and raise him from the deep. This unknown, powerful monster should terrify him like it does his brother, but he cannot help the curiosity buzzing around his head like flies. He wishes to see, confront, and kill; likewise to everything else he has no power over. The young man's mindset is... complicated. Sometimes, wires in his conscience become crossed, causing frustration and fear to fester into anger. This, in turn, usually results in unnecessary violence or rash decisions. His impulsiveness knows no bounds when it comes to his job in the art of hunting. This being said, why would a thing this powerful suddenly decide to raise a man of great destruction? Additionally, this creature has never appeared on any hunter's radar; moreover, according to everyone ever, not even a demon could muster a task like that.

 _Well, whatever it is, I'm gonna kill it. I have to._ Dean's conclusion echoes within his head as he exhales silently. Picking up a knife to fidget with, he surveys each symbol drawn into the walls. They couldn't be too careful, especially due to the young hunter's impulsive tendencies.

"You sure you did the ritual right?" The young man asks impatiently, turning to a sitting figure adjacent from where he is. He hopes that conversation can silence the emptiness and help to pass the time, but the older man looks over and huffs with a gaze as cold as ice.

Robert Singer is an older fellow with a bad temper and the brains of a scholar. Like a step-father, Bobby takes care of the boys like they are his. He is the person they turn to when they hit snags in their cases or have overdramatic brotherly issues. Although he always seems annoyed with them, notoriously calling them 'idjits,' Dean knows that deep down in his battered heart, the man loves them like a father.

Bobby's only response is a hollow glare. Dean knows how defensive he can get, so he decides to back off. Who can blame Dean though? He's eager to find out who or what exactly saved him.

"Sorry. Touchy touchy, huh?" His face curves up into a coy smirk, a playful gesture towards his older friend. But before the old grouch can respond, something shifts in the wind. Big gusts of air rush into the building from the rafters, rumbling the loose slats of aluminum lining the roof of the abandoned barn house. The young man looks up to the ceiling, followed by Bobby's gaze. Dean can't help but feel a prickle of anticipation deep within his gut as the two stand up to await the conflict. The knife Dean was fidgeting with clatters on the table before he quickly replaces it with a shotgun. _Is this it?_

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind." The Winchester states loudly, although barely audible with the sounds of clanging metal and whooshing wind. Suddenly, the hunter doesn't like this idea anymore. Perhaps this time he's bitten of more than he can chew? Both standing men know that he often reacts off of certain impulses. Thinking is always out of the question, as his mindset is to shoot first, ask questions later. Only momentarily does he truly feel the fear of a rational man.

As if to answer his thought, shatters echo throughout the building as overhead lamps burst with immense power. The air is so thick with tension, time seems to slow down. Dean covers his head with his elbows as a result and grunts softly in annoyance. Despite the sealed doors held back by a sturdy plank, the wood shifts and splits in half, as if it is a mere toothpick. Under the flickering lights, the two men stand agape when a shadow looms across the floor, the outside glow cast by the brilliant moon shining outside. What was walking in had the men freeze momentarily. He is beautiful.

Sea-blue eyes narrow into slits as a being in a teak trench-coat strolls into the heavily warded room like he owns the place. Sparks from the broken lights rush over his man-like body without a blink, almost as if this is just a typical Thursday night for him. His eyes dart around the room until they rest on his... victim, for lack of a better word: the one bearing his hand print. The two— being and Winchester— lock eyes momentarily as he approaches the two awe-stricken hunters. Any other human would get lost in the deep, blue, abyss of his irises, but Dean and Bobby are strong-willed. Both men were dragged into this life and trained to tackle all sorts of monster mind games; this is no exception. At least, this is what Dean reminds himself after hurriedly breaking eye contact with him.

Instinctively, the two hunters lift their rifles to eye level and point the barrels at the chest of the figure. Surprisingly, the man-like being doesn't hesitate nor flinch when he hears the safety click off on each weapon. With another step, the men shoot two salt rounds into his chest, but the powerful creature continues to stride forward, even as debris pierce his body. He ceases to bleed, moreover, he doesn't show any implication of injury.

Panic begins to flood the young man's consciousness as he turns to his father figure. _What beside some simple creatures can withstand salt? Maybe he is a demon-like creature with a salt immunity?_

Dean pushes his doubts into the back of his mind as he turns away and replaces the rifle with the dagger he was handling earlier. Despite its appearance, this isn't just any knife. Engraved into the side of the rigid blade is ancient markings of some kind, powerful enough to pierce a demon inside of its vessel and kill it. Maybe it will work on this thing too. Nevertheless, these are just hypotheses, and the real fear comes when the being finally reaches the two men.

The young man begins to circle the creature, honing in on his face as his gaze dares him to hold eye contact. He looks human, so what in the hell could he be?

"Who are you?" Dean says wearily as he remembers to hide his slight sense of wonder. His hands, clammy against the rubber handle of the blade, grip it tighter. His last hope is this blade.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." The monster says in a low, gravelly voice. Dean stops pacing and masks his face with aggression.

"Yeah, thanks for that." He grunts, obvious sarcasm oozing from each word. To both of the hunters' surprises, the being only returns the anger with a thin smile. His face is turned in a lopsided grin, almost as if he knows he cannot be defeated so easily by these men. To the right, Bobby can only freeze and watch as the scene unfolds in front of him. He knows what Dean is to try next, resulting his head to shake a little despite the obvious: a Winchester's DNA prohibits backing down so easily. With his next exhale, the young man swings his arm forward and buries the demon-killing knife deep into his savior's heart. Angry eyes lock with ones that sparkle with amusement, and the knife ceases to cause any implement of pain. As the realization sinks in, Dean takes a step back as confusion washes away his passive anger. The figure looks down once at the knife before smirking back up at the Winchester: he's remarkably calm despite Dean's attempts to kill him. As the young hunter prepares for the worst, the being pulls out a bloody knife without any hesitation or a wince.

 _What the hell is this thing?_ Bobby glances once in Dean's direction before taking his rifle and attempting to swing a blow himself. But as he is strong, the creature is agile. He keeps his eyes trained on Dean's as he reaches back and stops the muzzle from connecting to his upper back. With a simple movement, he turns around gracefully to face the other hunter with the rifle still in his grasp. His muscles roll calmly under his coat when he reaches up with two fingers and lightly touches Bobby's forehead. As Bobby's eyes roll back in his head and his sleeping body sinks to the floor like nothing, Dean cannot help but shutter. It becomes apparent that the monster, whoever and whatever he is, is capable of killing them with a snap of his fingers. But why hasn't he yet?

"We need to talk, Dean... alone." He says flatly as he turns around to face the young adult's agape look. Dean cannot decide whether he is in awe, in fear, or in shock of this new monster; moreover, he cannot even bring himself to speak. The only rational thing he can do is stare.

In staring, Dean is able to absorb the rest of his savior's features. His lips are pink and chapped against the sliver of light beaming from the moon above, which also casts a twinkle in his deep oceanic eyes. His coat is torn where the shrapnel entered, and a blood stain smears hisbstab wound. He stands straightly and formally, like a soldier, and Dean can see the satisficstion in his eyes as they both, indeed, stare.

Without another word, the young man finally decides to look away and permit the being from relishing his fear any longer. The best thing he can do at the moment is to check on Bobby and assess the damage. Slowly, he pushes past the powerful being and kneels down beside his fallen friend. Instead of stopping him, the pacifist merely turns to examine the equipment the hunters brought, glancing thoughtfully at the spell they used to summon him.

"Your friend is alive." The man-like monster says in a rough tone, disregarding the need to look up when he speaks. Dean glances at him once more, but in confusion this time. _So now he can mind-control people to sleep? Jeez Dean, what the hell did you get yourself into now?_

"Who are you?" Dean repeats cautiously, narrowing his eyes as he scans him up and down. He still seems docile, but the Winchester doesn't trust that. He mustn't make this mistake again.

"Castiel." The dark-haired creature responds, his focus remaining on the foreign spell. Dean recognizes this name, as he went to a psychic to find out who the handprint belongs to. The experience was... intense, to say the least.

"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean _what_ are you." Dean keeps his gaze directed towards this Castiel, observing his movements under slit eyes. With the question, the being looks up and meets the hunter's gaze. But he isn't angry: his visage reads calm and friendly: anything but hostile.

"I'm an angel of the Lord." He responds matter-of-factly, as simple as explaining the sky is blue: as if its rudimentary information.

Before he knows it, he finds himself lost in the gaze of a so-called angel. There's something about him he can't quite put his finger on, something new, and it's bothering the hell out of him. A certain cling in his stomach never wants him to look away, but he knows he can't give himself into this temptation. No, he must stay professional. But as Castiel stares back, he observes the emerald irises of the man in front of him and they cannot help but study one another. Finally, Dean speaks up:

"Get the hell out of here." He stands slowly, shaking his head in case this is just a lucid dream. His gaze stays locked with his savior's, however, still daring him to look away. "There's no such thing."

The angel shuffles forward a step and the young man glances down to check his hands for a weapon. Again, they're empty. "This is your problem, Dean, you have no faith."

With the note of his deep voice, the room flashes and lightning clothes the angel in white light. The thunder rolls through and behind him casts a set of folded wings, opening to their full extension in the flickering light. When his impressively large wings stretch to their full capacity, Castiel drops his head and levels his gaze with the broken man before him. At first, Dean doesn't know where to look: the man's impressive physique, his beautiful feathers, or his soft yet frightening eyes remaining rest on his face. Castiel's gaze is flat, even if behind his eyes hides a twinge of triumph intermingling pity. Both man and angel remember the condition Dean was in before he was raised to life; both understand the pain.

Once the thunder rolls clear, the Winchester is left with his mouth half-open in shock and in awe. However, this gaze doesn't last long.

"Some angel you are." He retorts as soon as he realizes this angel isn't a threat. Sarcasm has always been his fallback. "You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel looks down shamefully at his feet when he's reminded of the incident, taking a moment to gather his words. After regaining his composure, his eyes shift back up as he walks slowly, closer to Dean. "I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be overwhelming to humans. And so can my real voice.. but you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel?" Dean returns the angel's flat gaze with one of his own. Previously, the hunter had experienced a high-pitched ringing sound in both a gas station and in his motel room. The sound was piercing, as his ears still ring ever so slightly. "That was you talking?"

The angel's responds with a curt little nod as he stares up at Dean like an innocent child; the angel is a few inches shorter than his hunter. Dean shakes his head once to the side. "Buddy, next time lower the volume."

"That was my mistake." He admits, glancing down apologetically. "Certain people— special people — can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them," he pauses again to look up. "I was wrong."

Dean nods once. "And what 'visage' are you in now? Huh? What— holy tax accountant?"

"This," Castiel begins, looking down and fidgeting with his tattered coat and loose, navy tie that hangs everywhere but straight. "This is... a vessel."

"You're _possessing_ some poor bastard?" Dean's response is spat with disgust; he can't bring himself to fathom that an angel of all things could stoop so low.

"He's a devout man he actually prayed for this." The angel defends himself aggressively, yet he keeps his tone neutral.

"Look, pal, I'm not buying what you're selling so who are you really?" Dean huffs as he shifts a little in anticipation, unable to comprehend that angels are really real. What other things could be out there?

Castiel's eyebrows come together as he tilts his head in confusion. "I told you."

"Right." The hunter smacks his lips together and nods quickly. "And why would an angel, rescue me from hell?"

"Good things do happen, Dean." The celestial tells the hopeless man, stepping forward one last time. By now, they stand merely inches apart from one another: so close that Dean can feel Castiel's breath on his chest and count the strands of hair flowing over his forehead. In any other circumstance, he would be backing away, but he wants to prove that he's not scared of this angel, no matter how big of a lie it is.

"Not in my experience." Dean keeps his face flat and void of emotion. He's good at this, hiding his inner feelings in all. But around this guy, this.. angel, makes him almost uncomfortable. There's something about Castiel that makes him want to open up to him.. some part of him that feels safe; It scares the hell out of him.

"What's the matter?" He asks as if he reads the Winchester's mind. However, his face softens and his eyes widen slightly like he realizes the real issue. "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

All Dean can do is huff softly in response and change the subject. He doesn't need to be discussing his inner fears and feelings with an angel like a sissy. Dean isn't a sissy. "Why'd you do it?"

Licking his lips softly as he formulates his next sentence, the angel's face hardens once more into a steady gaze. Dean readies himself as Castiel's face shifts importantly, like this is the message he intended to deliver in the first place. These words shake the young hunter down to his very soul;

"Because God commanded it."

* * *

 **ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?  
** In this episode, Dean meets Castiel for the first time and he reveals his angelic roots. This is followed by long periods of staring and curious gazes. This scene is important because Dean cannot decide whether to make Castiel a friend or a foe, and he starts to question himself.


	4. (S4) Hello, My Hunter

**[CASTIEL POV]  
** {S4 E2}

* * *

After a long day of dealing with ghosts, Dean rests peacefully on the floor of Bobby's house. The night is inanimate as stars shine softly outside the window. Sam had fallen asleep on a nearby couch, completely overjoyed to have his brother returned to him. Everything in the old house is blissfully resting in the silent emptiness. Everyone that is, except for the angel appearing from the shadows.

His wings flutter softly as he teleports into the kitchen across from his sleeping hunter. Oddly, he finds it fascinating to watch humans sleep: especially impulsive ones. They rest so soundly despite the rage they hold inside their heads. As if on cue, Dean Winchester's eyes flutter open and he turns his head towards the soft sound. Even through the black, the angel watches as he squints groggily in order to see through the darkness, trying to identify the figure standing there. Once his gaze rests on a teak trench coat, he groans softly and sleepily sits up on his makeshift bed. The handle of his gun pokes out of his pillow in the glistening starlight and the angel begins to wonder if it's comfortable. This thought doesn't last long, as his gaze shifts to watch Dean checking on his brother, surely to confirm that he remains asleep. The angel has never understood human emotions, not really. The closest thing he's ever felt is the grief he shared with his brothers when one of their own perish. Other than that, he was only taught how to be a soldier and to follow heaven's orders. With such a job, there isn't room for emotions, anyway. Soldiers are emotionless; heartless, even; as they have to put the greater good above individuals.

After glancing around again to confirm Sam is in fact, sound asleep, the young hunter peels himself from the floor and inches slowly towards his savior. His angel keeps his eyes on the hunter he saved, and never strays nor looses focus of his brilliant green eyes. Castiel begins to ponder God's intentions; _Why would he need to bring a creature so destructive back into this world?_ But he pushes his thoughts aside and decides to compliment him. It's not his place to question his father.

"Excellent job with the witnesses." He approves gruffly, his face straight and only changing to accommodate his moving lips. He refers to the previous day, whereas ghosts of people hunters couldn't save started appearing and killing them in violent ways. Luckily, Bobby had found a spell to put them back to resting peacefully.

"You were hip to all this?" Dean asks as his brows come together above his nose. Castiel tilts his head a little in confusion. _After all he's done for the man, how can he still be angry?_

"I was, uh, made aware." He responds carefully, glancing down briefly as he chose his words. Before the rescue, Castiel was warned of Dean Winchester's impulsiveness and how certain trouble is the effect. This said, he certainly doesn't want to upset the hunter: even if the angel significantly trumps the human's strength.

"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance." He huffs passive-aggressively, narrowing his eyes on the celestial. "You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest."

"But you didn't." Castiel mentions evidently as his hands come to clench the kitchen sink. Dean must know he cannot be everywhere at once, right?

"I thought angels were supposed to be.. guardians." The ignorant hunter shakes his head as he imparts his untruthful beliefs. "Fluffy wings, halos. You know, Michael Landon, not dicks."

Although he doesn't know who the hell Michael Landon is, Castiel _does_ understand the miscommunication. Under his plain mask, the foolish hunter's interpretation peels away at angel's patience. This isn't the reason he came here. "Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a _soldier_." He defends himself.

"Yeah, then why didn't you fight?" Dean retorts, leaving Castiel in annoyance. _What about this conversation does he not understand?_

"I'm not here to perch on your shoulder." He says plainly, looking Dean dead in the eyes. He must understand the world doesn't revolve around his brother and himself. "We had larger concerns."

"Concerns?" Dean spat, shaking his head a little, which the angel understands as a disapproving gesture. Castiel responds with an annoyed side-glance. "There were people getting torn to shreds down here." Dean huffs softly as he remembers Sammy is merely across the room. "And by the way," he adds, aggression oozing from each word. "While all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh? If there is a God?"

"There's a God." The angel states, plain and simple; for he cannot understand why Dean is so dull-witted. He doesn't understand that some humans lack a sense of faith nor trust in God. _Can they not see what is point-blank their faces?_ Stupidity frustrates the hell out of the being.

"I'm not convinced," The hunter states to confirm his thoughts. Of course, Dean always has to complicate situations and overdramatize them. The celestial sighs in frustration as the ignorant hunter continues. "Cause if there is a God, what the hell is he waiting for? Genocide? Monsters roaming the Earth? The fuckin' _apocalypse_? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here!?"

"The Lord works—"

"If you say ' _in mysterious ways'_ so help me I will kick your ass." Dean shakes his head as Castiel holds his hands up in submission. He has ignored the hunter's aggression so far, but truthfully, he believes that Dean needs some sense knocked into him: for his own good. The angel slumps his hands back onto the sink and sighs deeply, looking up in search for the young man's beautiful eyes. Oddly enough, his irises have a calming effect upon them. Castiel has never felt this way before, gazing into another's eyes, and cannot help the small smile that appears on his lips. Before he could compliment their brilliance, Dean speaks once more, but to change the subject:

"So Bobby was right, about the witnesses." He breaks the silence, his tone lowering from angry to docile as he stares directly into his sea-blue eyes. Perhaps Dean feels the same ways about the angel's eyes because he finds the hunter walking closer to him. "This is some kind of a sign of the apocalypse?"

"That's why we're here. Big things afoot." Castiel nods in agreement, turning his head towards the hunter who had inched closer to his left side. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to the endless forest he envisions whenever he looks into them.

"Do I want to know what kind of things?" The man asks, his face bathed in white light and accentuating his cheekbones. The angel has only been on Earth once before, but he reckons that something feels different with this Dean. He is brave, without a doubt, but there was something else. A specific nagging, an itching to be with him and to help him fight off his demons. Angel's aren't supposed to become attached to humans, he knows that, but somehow he feels as if he wants to be friends.

"I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know." Castiel answers honestly, his gaze never breaking when blue meets green. But this time, something stops him, and he feels as if he must pull away. As if all of this is somehow.. wrong. He shouldn't be feeling this way, and he must stop. He envies humans and their many emotions. Perhaps one day he will understand, but for now, he's forsaken in the fog. "The rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals."

"Okay, I'm guessing that's not a show at SeaWorld." Dean jokes, but the angel doesn't understand his reference. He decides not to question it as he continues on:

"Those seals are being broken by Lilith." Castiel says grimly, knowing the Winchesters understand who he's talking about. Of course, she's the one who sent Dean to hell, after all. With these words, he decides to try and find his hunter's eyes once more, and finds himself surprised to see them already resting upon his face.

After a moment's pause of gazing, Dean speaks up again: "She did the spell, she rose the witnesses."

"Mm-hm, and not just here," Castiel sighs and looks away once again, likely ashamed they didn't win this one. Frankly, the angel is terrified of what will happen if all the seals are broken. He knows that serious trouble will rise to the surface, and the odds are not in their favor. "20 other hunters are dead."

"Of course, she picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us." Dean confirms, finally understanding his point of view: the angel knew the brothers could handle this, so he and others went off and attempted to fix the situation in other places.

"Lilith has a certain sense of humor." The angel agrees with a quick glance at the moonlit hunter.

"Well, we put those spirits back to rest." He says, looking at the curious angel as he meets his gaze and looks away. Those gorgeous eyes have been so natural to stare at before, so why does this new side; this, unguarded, pacifist side to Dean; cause Castiel to feel a prickling sensation down his spine? This feeling... awkward? Impossible, Angels cannot experience such human things.

"It doesn't matter, the seal was broken." His gruff voice cuts through the silent air like butter, a certain tension bubbles up between the two men as Castiel— once again— looks back at his hunter.

"Why break the seal anyway?"

Castiel takes a deep breath before stepping away from the sink and taking a step towards Dean. Perhaps space in between them causes awkward feelings, and maybe closing the gap could fix it. "You think of the seals as locks on a door."

"Okay, is the last one opens and...?" Clueless, the hunter asks his angel and he waits for him to finish his sentence. It takes a moment before the celestial being can bring himself to say the words.

"Lucifer walks free." He states, a straight mask hiding true fear under beautiful eyes and a just face. After these words, Castiel gives the hunter time to compute all this ' _angel crap_ ' he's heard Dean describe this once before. The product is more staring as Dean's mouth hangs slightly agape. Time drags on for an eternity before the hunter's brain connects the dots:

"Lucifer?" He repeats slowly, brows raising in disbelief. Undoubtedly, his angel nods solemnly, almost as if he knows what weight the man has already undergone and how much more he has to endure. "But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school? There's no such thing."

Castiel smiles softly in response to the human's humor, narrowing his eyes against the dimming starlight of the evening. The sun would come up in a few hours. "Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me."

The benighted human stares at the complex being like a squirrel does a horse. Unknowing, feeble, and utterly naive. Dean isn't open-minded and Castiel can see that now. "Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?"

"To stop Lucifer.." He finishes as the picture becomes slightly clearer for the squirrel. Castiel nods and his eyes never retract from his hunter; his marked.

"That's why we've arrived." Celestial concludes, somewhat content with the simple-minded being's process to absorb the information. However, Dean isn't finished yet:

"Well, bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice." Dean snarks, leaning against the countertop. What a foolish man, sassing an angel of the Lord.

"We _tried,_ " Castiel defends himself before stopping to think: Why is Dean's faith so important to him? It shouldn't matter and he shouldn't be explaining himself. "and there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost."

The young man snorts a little like the ordeal amuses him. _Who is he to command the angels and decide what I do?_ Someone sure needs to knock him down from his high horse, and Castiel is one push away from doing it himself.

"Our numbers are _not_ unlimited." The angel reminds him, his tone still neutral as he fights back the urge to put Dean in his place. He steps forward to face his hunter, inches away from his body. The man flinches a little as the being moves forward, his eyes darting all over the place. "Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of heaven should just follow you around?"

Dean doesn't respond, for he has melted in the angel's close presence. Both men can say that they have never felt this way towards any other thing before. This strange feeling they share both scares and fascinates the angel: so much that he dares a step closer towards his hunter.

"There's a bigger picture here." Castiel continues, his voice low in a growl as he remembers the other Winchester in the other room. He can sense Dean's uncomfortablity in his eyes; Castiel finds they cannot decide where to rest on his vessel's body. "You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell, I can throw you back in."

The next words escape as a lost growl as the angel leans into the hunter's ear. Their bodies brush momentarily and his lips graze Dean's ear.

"Never forget that." He says huskily as he attempts to intimidate. Before Dean can decide what else to do or what happened, Castiel vanishes into thin air, leaving Dean flustered and confused.

It's no doubt Castiel is feeling the same way. In heaven is where he appears, undoubtedly flushed and confused. He meant well, but he doesn't understand his pounding heart nor his clammy hands. Angels aren't supposed to feel emotions nor become attached to humans. It's a rule he vowed to never break.

But oh, how wrong he will be.

* * *

 **ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?  
** This chapter describes the awkward and muddled relationship the two share. As awkward as it seems to be, the two cannot help but to be close to the other whether they realize it or not. To accentuate this, I added the little tidbit at the end with the creative liberty of the camera angle


	5. (S4) Listen to Your Heart

**[SAM POV]  
** {S4 E7}

* * *

It's October 31st, weeks after the brothers' run-in with Bobby and the Witnesses. In a small town, leaves crumble softly underfoot as children busy themselves with getting home, elated for the nightlife. They will dress up as their favorite characters and parade around the town in search for sweets. Unlike the others, Samuel Winchester works on a hunting case, as the supernatural doesn't stop for holidays; moreover, Halloween is every day for these brothers. It's been a while since both boys (Sam and Dean) worked a straight-forward case, so they've decided they should get back into the swing of things before taking on any big fish. At first, the brothers thought this was just a simple witch hunt, but with further research, they find each attack contributing to a summoning spell powerful enough to raise Samhain: the father of Halloween. They believe this witch is a girl by the name Tracy Davis, but when they checked her apartment, she turned up missing. The same information comes with friends as well; no one has any idea where the girl is. With the obvious a bust, Sam decided it was time to dig deeper into the cheerleader's information to see if she could be anywhere else.

As for Dean, Sam has noticed that he's been acting differently. Of course distant, considering he's been to hell and back, but there's something else: he cannot pinpoint exactly what it is, but he's definitely hiding something; something important.

Pushing his thoughts aside, the tall brunette sighs as he jiggles his keys into the lock on their hotel room door, smiling slightly as it gives out a satisfying click. His older brother follows close behind as he walks into the room: jumping a little in surprise, Sam doesn't expect what he sees. Sitting on his older brother's bed is a man about the same age as Dean, staring at the wall as if to study the paint. His hair consists of unkempt ebony clumps and his shoulders are draped in a tan overcoat. He doesn't even flinch as the startled man instinctively whips out his gun and releases the safety lock.

"Who are you?!" The hunter growls aggressively, pointing his pistol at the back of the figure's head without a second thought.

"Sam! Sam wait!" His frantic brother calls out from behind him; yet Sam keeps both his eyes and the nozzle trained on the trench-coated man. Gently, Dean puts a hand on his brother's shoulder whilst the other lowers the gun in his hands. "It's Castiel... the angel."

Slowly, Sam's face gaps in realization: _No way, this cannot be the angel Dean was describing. Angels are supposed to be god-like, with blinding glowing light and brilliance, right?_

His gaze flits from his brother's savior to a figure standing in front of the closed window. A shiny brown head holds still above jet-black clothing as he stays unmoving. Dean narrows his eyes cautiously next to Sam. "Him, I don't know."

At that moment, Castiel stands up and turns towards the brothers before his oceanic eyes rest on Dean momentarily. They share a brief gaze until he shifts his view to Sam. His voice breaks the air, gruff and monotone: "Hello, Sam."

"Oh my God," Mystified, Sam practically whispers whilst lost in a state of wonder. Quickly realizing what he said, he blushes embarrassingly as he tries to right his mistake: "Erm—Uh, I didn't mean to— Sorry." Sam takes a minute to breathe before letting the rest of the words tumble out of his mouth: "It's an honor, really. I-I've heard a lot about you."

Sam gushes nervously like any Christian would in meeting an angel of the Lord. Dean; a skeptical atheist even considering the angel interaction; rolls his eyes blatantly from off to the side and huffs slightly as his brother emphasizes that he, arrogant and independent Dean, had gabbed about a person he just met. Sam ignores his brother and reaches out his hand as a gesture of friendship.

Dean leaves the two to make acquaintances as he disappears from his brother's view, the door thudding closed in response. The angel hesitantly takes his hand, obviously perplexed with this gesture: his brows furrow in confusion as he tries to comprehend the situation.

"And I, you." He responds, leaving Sam to smile. He starts to wonder when in hell Dean would've had the time to converse with Castiel about such things, but the angel cuts off his thoughts: "Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood." He says deeply, pressing his other hand onto the one he already held. The sensation is surprisingly warm: white-hot energy radiates from his presence as he narrows his icy gaze.

All three of them know what Sam has done in the past with his... unholy abilities. With demon blood coursing through his veins, Sam could exercise and banish demons back to hell without using a spell nor knife. It also granted Sam with psychic abilities up until Bobby and his brother decided it was too dangerous. They have no idea what the boy is doing in his spare time _now_.

Sam knows that the extra hand is a forewarning and a subtle stresser as he continues onward: "Glad to hear you've.. ceased your _extracurricular activities_."

"Let's keep it that way." A low voice originating from the figure facing the wall chimes in. Suddenly, Sam shifts uncomfortably just thinking about his actions; lying directly to an angel of the Lord is wrong, but he must, right? Angels aren't exactly what he expected them to be nor do they seem interested in the brothers' causes for good.

"Yeah, okay Chuckles." Dean defends his brother as he once again moves to stand next to him. With a straight face still masking his inner softie (Sam knows this well), he turns to his angel. "Who's your friend?"

"The raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?" Castiel changes the subject importantly.

"Why?" Dean speaks up, and in turn, leading the angel's eyes to rest upon him.

"Dean, have you located the witch?" He repeats as his eyes peer steadily into the green ones beside Sam. Dean mutters a "Yeah, we've located the witch" before the conversation continues onward about her and whether she's dead or not; Sam stays quiet, for the most part, unable to pinpoint what the hell is going on between his brother and the angel. There's this weird tension between them; a strange electricity like the force prohibiting magnets to touch. He's never seen his brother act like this around anyone before and Sam starts to question the chemistry between them. The most he can do at the moment is wait for the two to bring him back into the conversation:

"Apparently, the witch knows who you are too," Sam escapes from his thoughts as Castiel speaks up in baritone, turning his back towards them and stooping forward to pick something up. Swiveling around again, he holds out a small brown bag between his fingers the brothers recognize immediately: a hex bag. "This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn't found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

The angel turns the pouch over in his hands whilst looking over to Dean; who then turns to Sam. Glancing up to find two pairs of eyes resting upon him, Sam looks away awkwardly and jerks his head to the side with an expression like 'I don't know.' Dean sighs, as if reading his mind, and looks back at his angel.

"We're working on it," Dean says slowly, causing Castiel to sigh heavily.

"That's unfortunate." Castiel looks at the ground like he has to do something he regrets. However, this expression doesn't show itself in his voice, which stays gruff and sonorous.

"What do you care?" Says the older brother coldly; even this tone is too crude for the Dean he knows. Then again, his brother carries the tendency to express anger towards the things he fears.

Castiel's sigh turns Sam's attention back to the duo. To his surprise, the celestial looks up at his older brother dead in the eyes. Sam has never seen another being brave enough to do so and live to tell the tale. "The raising of Samhain is one of 66 seals. As said before, if they are broken, Lucifer will rise. Therefore, the breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs."

"Okay, great," The young hunter says as the angel walks closer to him. It's obvious Castiel has no sense of personal space nor other humanized customs. However, his brother doesn't even make an effort to move away, and Sam begins to wonder why. "Well, now that you're here, why don't you tell us where the witch is, we'll gank her, and everybody goes home."

"We are not omniscient: this witch is very powerful." Castiel remarks with a shake of his head: "She's cloaked: even to our methods."

"Okay, But we already know _who_ she is," Chimes in Sam, the third wheel: "so if we work together—"

"Enough of this." Cuts in the deep voice from the bald man at the window. The conversation carries on to where they meet the figure in the background: Uriel, a specialist angel. The holy messengers' plan is to smite the whole town, to which the boys argue out of the question.

"So this is your plan: you're gonna smite the whole freakin' town?" Dean expresses furiously and leaves Castiel glancing down apologetically. All Sam can do is look downwards and try to absorb it all in. Angels and these kinds of beings are barely what he expected them to be. Sam grew up thinking that angels are merciful, heavenly hosts that do the righteous things; but now, he sees how far he is from the truth.

"We're out of time. This witch has to die and the seal must be saved." Castiel expresses once more, looking up to reveal his concern. How can angels be such _dicks_?

"There are a _thousand_ of people here!" Protests Sam as his eyebrows raise to his forehead. Again, Uriel cuts him off:

"1,214." He corrects, in which only makes the matter worse.

"And you're willing to kill them all?!" Sam scoffs as he shakes his head. Unbeknownst to him, Dean and Castiel are in the midst of a staring contest. It isn't much of a 'longing/loving' glance; it's more of a dare. They scowl at another as the boy and angel argue.

"This isn't the first time I've... _purified_ a city." Uriel retorts lowly and almost cynically. With these words, Castiel decides to look over and add on to his sentence:

"Look, I understand this _is_ regrettable." He averts his eyes when Dean scoffs and mutters: ' _that's an understatement of the century_ '. "We have to hold the line: too many seals have broken already and Lucifer cannot rise," The savior repeats with growing urgency, stepping closer for intimidation: "If he does, hell rises with him. Is that something that you're willing to risk?"

Sam looks up as Castiel— once again— stares daggers towards his brother. He knows he means well, but two inches away is too close for comfort. Dean's brows come to crease at the bridge of his nose as his visage changes from angry to speechless; like the celestial being's close proximity has an effect on him. 3 seconds into a breathless eternity that's far too uncomfortable for Sam to watch, Dean opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out. Instead, his tongue runs across his lips as his mind reels.

 _Okay, wait, what? Am I seeing this correctly?_ Sam's subconscious remarks. The young Winchester holds back a titter as his brother's actions become clear to him: Dean Winchester, Mr. Womanizer, might've just revealed his bisexuality. With the way he's staring at the angel's vessel, that much is clear. Whether it's a crush or not is a matter too soon to judge; Moreover, he could be perplexed by the supreme being, but he's harmless to them, why should he be?

As if to save his brother from the disconcerting silence, Sam breaks the uncomfortable tension: "We'll stop this before she summons anyone. Your seal won't be broken, and no one has to die."

Dean nods slowly as if this is what he was trying to say before the angel caught his tongue. Nevertheless, Uriel pipes in with a quick jab, causing Castiel to desperately try explaining how their plan is just. Sam glances to his older brother, who seems infatuatedly praying for his savior to choose the better path: free will. This turns out to be a hopeless argument with a soldier whose whole life has been undoubtedly following the orders of his father.

"You think you can stop us?" Uriel raises a brow both curiously and arrogantly. Sam knows his brother, which is why he isn't surprised in the least when he steps forward and threatens the angel with a jab of his own: He promises to stay in the town despite their smiting, bringing up how God would surely be unhappy with that:

"I mean come on, you're wiping a whole town for one little witch? Sounds to me like you're compensating for something." Dean remarks in his face through narrowed eyes before swiveling back on his heels triumphantly as his roast keeps the angel quiet.

"We can do this," Dean adds as his gaze —yet again— rests on clear blue irises connecting him to his guardian angel. Perhaps if this Castiel was in a female vessel, Sam could've understood his brother's attraction. But this? This is a side of Dean Sam has never witnessed before; hell, he's never seen his brother stare at _anyone_ this long before. Even the angel seems on edge: like he's experiencing something he shouldn't be. Perhaps with more research, Sam can understand what exactly is going on behind the curtains of their minds.

 **[DEAN POV]** ~~the next day~~

Dean Winchester sighs lowly to himself as he sits on a park bench. The grass around his feet shines green and the trees create a soft rustling sound, adding to the calming aura around him. The swings and other metal fixtures squeak with protest as kids run around with one another. Children's laughter echo throughout the area as they kids play mindlessly in this nearby playground. The man remembers what it's like to be young and stupid: to believe that everything was pure in the world. He was 4 years old before it was all taken away from him.

He squints his eyes against the bright sunlight, soaking in the blissful scene. Yesterday they had failed in stopping the witch, causing Samhain to rise from the depths of hell and inflict pain and death to some local teens. Even worse, Sammy used his powers again, breaking his word.

Like a gentle reminder to his pain, he feels the angelic presence of his savior. He doesn't even need to turn around to know he's there: by now, the soft stroke of feathers and his musk scent is enough to tell him so: "Let me guess, you're here for the 'I told you so.'"

Dean turns his head to look at the angel who saved him; but to his surprise, Castiel doesn't turn to meet his eyes. Instead, he had followed Dean's gaze to the children's laughter as he replied with a simple: "No."

"Well good, 'cause I'm really not that interested." The hunter scoffs, as he's still embarrassed by his loss yesterday.

"I'm not here to judge you, Dean." The angel reminds him gruffly yet quietly, almost as if the arrogant act is dropped. Nonetheless, Dean is hardheaded and doesn't see into it.

"Then why are you here?" He turns and faces Castiel, who had already turned to him.

"Our orders—"

"Yeah, you know, I've had about enough of these orders of yours." Dean shakes his head slowly.

"Our _orders,_ " The angel repeats with growing urgency, "were not to stop the summoning of Samhain. They were to do whatever you told us to do."

With this statement, Dean leans over his knees as his interest peaks: "Your orders.. were to follow _my_ orders?"

"It was a test," the celestial being confirms, and his gaze never leaves Dean. Not as the kids' squeals peak nor when the wind whistles through colorful leaves. The hunter admires the angel's eyes, so therefore, he doesn't mind it. They remind him of a calm lake, a crisp blue that makes even the sky jealous. Just as he was losing himself in his irises, Castiel continues to talk: "to see how you would perform under... battlefield conditions, you might say."

Dean smiles softly as time cuts his face into a gentle smirk: "It was a witch," he starts, looking up at the angel. "not the Tet Offensive."

With this joke, the angel cannot suppress a small chuckle as he looks down once more. Dean's face has morphed from annoyed to nicely surprised in minutes. No one ever laughs at his jokes, so this is a pleasant surprise.

"So I, uh, failed your test, huh? I get it." Dean returns to a straight face as every sense of friendship they shared erases itself from his face. He cannot decide whether to befriend or punch Cass. _Cass? That's a good nickname._ Dean turns his sight to rest on two little kids fighting over a bucket of sand: "But you know what?"

Cass turns to him as he licks his lips, seemingly curious with this new tone of voice. Dean portrays a mixture of personalities; usually hard-toned; but although he hates to admit it, under his tough demeanor is a scared little boy who craves affection.

"If you were to wave that— that magic time traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I'd make the same call." Dean continues, snapping the angel out of whatever daze he seemed to be in before he nods. "'Cause, see, I don't know what's going to happen when these seals are broken. Hell, I don't even know what's gonna happen tomorrow." Another nod from the angel. "But I do know that this here..." The young hunter pauses to jerk his chin towards the playing children, who had compromised and shared the bucket. Castiel shuffles his hands where they rest between his legs. "These kids, the swings, the trees, all of it: it's still here because of my brother and me."

The angel nods carefully, pausing as if to choose his words. "You misunderstand me, Dean. I'm not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town."

The older Winchester's eyebrows curve with curiosity, almost in disbelief. When he speaks, his tone betrays his confliction: "You were?"

"These people," He trails off momentarily to exhale and lean over his knees: "they're all my father's creations: they're works of art." He begins as Dean's gaze scans all of his beautiful features: he cannot spot a single imperfection in his face, nor a reason to hate him anymore. With this frustration, he decides to look away as he continues: "And yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken, and we _are_ one step closer to hell on earth for all creation: and that's not an expression, Dean; it's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means."

Castiel turns back to his hunter as the conversation sinks into silence. Dean clenches his jaw merely at the thought of hell and how this angel could possibly understand his pain, but he must remind himself that this was the being who had saved him. His handprint still burns his bicep occasionally; usually through his nightmares or with a thought of the place like now. For distraction, he finds himself scanning the angel's face once more for any detail he could've missed. Cass' cheekbones are set nicely, allowing a light shade of color to wash across them in the dim sunlight. His eyes squint against the bright day, but they still manage to mesmerize Dean past the point of description. And then there's his hair, which is imperfectly perfect: it hangs at different angles yet still catches his eye. Dean is so caught up in trying to find invisible flaws that he barely catches on to what the angel is saying:

"I'll tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul," Cass says seriously. This angel; his savior; is putting his trust in _Dean_ of all people? The man who literally stabbed him not even 2 months ago?

"Okay." The Winchester's raspy voice masks any hint of surprise it might've had.

"I'm not, uh... hammer, as you say." Cass begins as he slumps his head to observe the ground. Yesterday, when discussing battle tactics with the two angels, Dean had described them as hammers: blunt and blind to the crap orders being handed out to them. To disagree is far more than what Dean expected of him: "I have questions. I... I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore; and whether you passed or failed here." With such a confession, Dean blinks, as he's utterly surprised. Perhaps Sammy was right: maybe there are righteous angels out there, and maybe Castiel is one of them. "I.. don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean." He continues, meeting the hunter's gaze once more and Dean closes his mouth once he realizes he left it agape. Whether he means his hellish memories or the burdens to become is beyond the hunter. Moments always seem to pan out into lifetimes as their eyes lock, and Dean can feel his heart racing: he's never really felt this way before and it scares him. "I truly don't."

It's minutes before they can stop staring at another and carry on; the young hunter furrows his brows together in confusion before breaking eye contact with the angel. Looking away is as difficult as tackling a ghost but as easy as giving into temptation. To be frank, he doesn't feel lust towards his new friend: he would've recognized that immediately. No, this feeling is new and vaguely frightening. He cannot decide whether he enjoys or hates it, yet he finds himself missing it. Maybe it's because he's been lonely for so long and finally having a friend felt amazing despite Castiel's annoying, dick-like flaws. There's no way he can be bisexual; he's Mister Womanizer after all.

... Right?

* * *

 **ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?  
** _I chose these scenes because they depict Sam meeting Castiel for the first time and at the same time describe the many facial expressions he makes during this scene. After this, both boys share a moment leading Dean to realize Castiel isn't what he first thought he was; this is very important for the storyline._


	6. (S4) Cheek to Cheek

**[DEAN POV]  
** {S4 E16}

* * *

"I want to talk to Cass, alone."

Dean huffs as he turns to face a dark-skinned angel, who in return, purses his plump lips together into a frown. He stares at the young hunter's face as he ponders his decision, blank-faced and dull as per usual. After a quick glance behind Dean, seemingly towards the angel standing there in the background, his face relaxes.

"I'll go seek revelation. We might have some further orders." He says lowly.

"Well, get some doughnuts while you're out." Dean jokes with a coy smile, and in return is rewarded with a disapproving, yet hearty laugh.

"Ah, this one just won't quit, will he?" Uriel shakes his head. "I think I'm starting to like you, boy."

Uriel disappears without another word, the sound of feathers against the wind the only thing left behind. It's been a long time since the incident with Castiel and Halloween: too long for Dean's comfort. He cannot help but wonder why he misses the angel so much, but he always finds himself concluding it as never having such a close friend before. Despite the platonic exchange, his words still haunt him deep in his subconscious, repeating over and over until eventually, Dean's head spins.

 _I'll tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul._

Firstly, Dean never would've guessed an angel —of all beings— could open up and trust someone like himself: someone so filled with rage, so corrupt from the inside out; Dean can barely trust himself. It's obvious he doesn't see what his savior sees, and his trust will never match Castiel's faith. Secondly, the young hunter can't comprehend that Cass found his hope resonating in a broken shell of a man like himself. He seems to expect such great things from him, even if he has no idea what he's doing.

For the moment, the Winchester decides to push his thoughts back into the depths of his mind and focus on a different, more present thought: the reason why he's here. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he spots the ruddy door containing the demon who taught him the arts of torture. Bound up in chains, a pentagram, and a devil's trap hangs Alastair.

"You guys don't walk enough, you're gonna get flabby." Dean jokes, but the angel continues to stare at him at an attention-like position. Upon seeing his reaction, the hunter shifts awkwardly and averts his eyes: "You know, I'm starting to think junkless has a better sense of humor than you do."

"Uriel's the funniest angel in the garrison; ask anyone." The angel responds in his regular low-pitched voice. Dean glances back towards him before he reminds himself to get to the point.

"What's going on, Cass? Since when does Uriel have a leash on you?" Dean frowns slightly, walking closer to the celestial. Yes, Dean has started to use that nickname. ' _Like hell I'm going to say 'Castiel' when I could be saving breath.'_ was his thought process. His savior seemed to like the name and so it stuck.

Cass looks at the ground and sighs. He must know that Dean is referring to his dead-inside, puppy dog gaze as he shadowed Uriel back at their hotel room: before they abducted the hunter here. It was almost as if Uriel was controlling the angel's actions and whatnot. It's obvious that Cass cares, due to his hinged jaw and pleading eyes, but the dark-skinned angel shut him down before he could bring this to words. A moody and annoyed Castiel appeared as if he wanted to stand up for the brothers and be kind, but the consequences must be too great. _Angels do have emotion, right? Why wouldn't they?_

"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies." His angel says, his deep voice echoing softly in Dean's head. Oddly, that voice always tends to send a shiver down his spine: but he doesn't dwell on this nor how he remembers his chapped lips grazing his ear. He doesn't; he lies.

"Sympathies?" The hunter asks curiously as he shifts his weight to his other foot. Never before had he heard someone speak so sophisticated, as he still must adjust himself to hearing it.

"I was getting too close to the humans in my charge: You." He choses his phrasing neatly as if he means something behind his words. _What does it mean for an angel to get 'too close' to a human? Are they not allowed to have friends?_

At that moment, Dean starts feeling a sudden twinge in his chest— the happy kind, to his own horror. It feels like his heart decided to sprout wings and fly around in its small cavity. To Dean's own shock, he finds this soothing ache nothing compared to his own surprise. The statement causes excitement deep within his soul; a bliss he hasn't felt in a long time— _Actually, that's a lie._ Dean contradicts himself in his subconsciousness. _I felt that happiness last time I went to a strip club, but nevertheless, it feels different. Not like a '_ wow I'm gonna get laid _' kind of happy. It's more... genuine._ Something about these words causes him to feel joy; surely due to the potential friendship. Yes, that has to be it.

"They feel I've begun to express... emotions, the doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment." He adds quickly as he takes another step closer, moreover catching Dean's attention once more. By now, his heart is pounding for reasons he cannot even begin to describe. This angel affects him in ways he cannot process, and suddenly he begins to feel grateful: he cares for _him_ of all people? A small part of him wants to hug his angel and never let him go. The other part, well, Dean pushes that thought aside and decides to deny even having that feeling. It's too strange to fathom.

Despite these impulses, Dean decides not to act on any of them. After staring at Cass' perfectly chiseled face, the young man steps around and walks past him before his brain can spring any other ideas. "Well, tell Uriel, or whoever... you do not want me doing this. Trust me."

"Want it, no, but I've been told we need it." The gruff voice of Castiel replies from behind his back. Dean doesn't need to turn around to know where his gaze lies; his brilliant blue eyes burn like hot embers into his hunter's back. Although every part of him is itching to run away and to never torture again, he must push down the thought; this results in a sigh.

 _Yeah, maybe I'm beginning to trust Cass._ Dean sighs mentallyCass seems genuine and truthful under his mistakes to be righteous, but Dean must remind himself every so often that everyone has accidents and misconceptions, moreover since the angel was brought up believing in false morals and learning how to justify dick-like qualities.

"You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out." Was all the hunter can say; tiredly, softly, but seriously. People say lightning can't strike twice: and at this moment, Dean can prove them wrong. Again, the angel's next words shock Dean like a sharp bolt has ripped through his body and causes his heart to melt slightly with appreciation; for the second time.

"For whatever it's worth... I would give anything not to have you do this."

 **[CASTIEL POV]**

The angel stands away from the door with a look of worry in his turquoise eyes. A muffled song echoes from the room beyond, a familiar tune he's heard somewhere before: _"...I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing!"_ He takes a breath and finishes the rest unmusically: " _cheek to cheek."_

The spat voice of Alistair echoes through thin walls before Castiel sighs. He cannot begin to imagine how difficult this situation must be for Dean, but he's doing it anyway. The demon's screams and groans of protest start up moments after the song finishes, originating from the room the student torturer disappeared to. The dark-haired man's hands come to clench the table he's leaning against in worry, as he doesn't want this plan to backfire. _Worry? Castiel you're becoming soft_. He scolds himself, looking over at the door in anticipation. There is no chance of failure anyway: he constructed the devil's trap himself.

Castiel doesn't know what it is about these Winchesters, but they have a certain pull on him: especially Dean. He causes the angel to feel all sorts of human things he shouldn't even dream about having. These emotions are his burden, and the angelic soldier wasn't lying when he told him feelings are doorways to doubt. His new care for Dean has jumbled his thoughts ever since he laid eyes on him in hell; when his grace punctured his fragile shell; when he lifted him up and saved him. Dean haunts his thoughts until he cannot remember what's right and what's wrong: _What is righteousness?_ Is a repetitive thought. The angel was programmed to be a soldier, but his coding cracks as he longs for a friend he shouldn't have nor should need.

In the back of his mind, his vessel sleeps but his rest doesn't mask his pain and worry for his abandoned family. Jimmy Novak is a righteous man who had a sweet, white-picket-fence life. Perhaps these unknown feelings originate from this human, moreover, he could be what humans describe as bisexual. Surely the soldier is starting to pick up onto that.

The ignorant angel is jolted out of his thoughts as the light above him flickers curiously and explodes into hundreds of sparks. The debris land softly on his overcoat, reminding him of the time he met his curious hunter. Before long, he feels another presence of being like himself, which is why he glances at the reflective table to confirm it: "Anna."

"Hello, Castiel." She says sweetly, but the other angel refuses to turn around. He cannot stop thinking about Dean, and he is more concerned about his new friend than his old one.

Anna is the fallen angel who forgot she is an angel. The boys met her a few weeks back whilst investigating some demons. Castiel was there to kill her although he didn't want to. This is why in battle, he relayed the image of an angel banishing sigil in her mind to avoid the circumstance. Luckily, the boys found her grace and restored her wings; but it doesn't excuse her choice to fall in the first place. Maybe he doesn't want to kill her, but he doesn't want to forgive her either.

"You shouldn't be here, we still have orders to kill you," Cass says gruffly above the muffled groan of the demon as he's tortured through thin walls. The thought of killing another angel sends a small shiver down his spine: it's an option he doesn't ever want to face.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll try." The feminine angel walks around in an attempt to meet Castiel's gaze, but he keeps studying the steel table in front of him and how it glows unnaturally in man-made lights. "Where's Uriel?"

"He went to receive revelation." He glances at her dark red hair and how it swishes as she pivots, but that's all the facetime he will allow himself. Call him petty, but he envies her human experience and how she spent her last night on Earth as one.

"Right." She nods softly, pausing as Alistair screams and the soft sound of a knife plunges into his unholy being; Celestials have excellent hearing. He starts feeling somewhat antsy as the groans of pain continue; _gosh I wish she would just leave already._ Instead, she turns on her heel, catching Cass' attention briefly. As if reading his thoughts, she speaks again: "Why are you letting Dean do this?"

With the question, the angel hesitates and his soldier-like programming takes over, in turn facing the wall. "He's doing God's work."

" _Torturing?_ That's God's work?" She scoffs and shakes her head. "Stop him, Cass, please: before you ruin the one real weapon you have."

As she uses the nickname only Dean calls him, Castiel swallows and takes a deep breath. The confused angel doesn't like it when other angels refuse to speak his full name; it's unprofessional. "Who are we to question the will of God?"

"Unless.. this isn't his will." Her words shake the masculine angel's thoughts momentarily as he processes its potential meaning: _What if I'm making Dean do work that isn't even worth it? What if this is slowly killing the person I vowed to protect? "_ The father you love; you think he wants this? You think he'd ask this of you? You think this is _righteous?_ " Anna protests as she takes his silence as a chance to go on. Granting her the benefit of the doubt, Castiel turns around before stepping backward slightly in noticing their proximity. He cannot help but avert his eyes with guiltiness. "What you're feeling," she adds softly, turning her face to catch Castiel's eyes, unblinking: "it's called doubt."

He looks down once more, utterly ashamed with himself: to fail is to have doubt. Alistair's spluttering and gasping are the only noises to break the silence between them, and Castiel doesn't know what to say. The angel has only heard of the feeling and its consequences, and he must admit it's far more powerful than he could have ever imagined. Nevertheless, to his surprise, he never wants to ridden himself of it. With the angel's downward glance, Anna sighs and places a hand on his.

"These orders are wrong, and you know it. But you can do the right thing," She starts, searching for his eyes but he won't let her: "You're afraid, Cass, I was too." He hears her desperation but still refuses to look her in the eyes. "But together, we can sto—"

"Together?" Cass jerks up his head, ripping his hand from her grasp as his eyes narrow into icy slits: _She must be playing me so that she can have someone on her side._ He reminds himself, knowing well that she isn't the angel she used to be. "I am nothing like you." he begins as he walks away from the table. His angry eyes search her face but all he can see is the angel who fucked his friend. Somehow, this angers him further: " _You fell_. Go."

The sexually confused angel walks away as her disappointment follows his back toward the door. By now, he barely notices this anger and how he shouldn't have access to such an emotion. However, part of him is hung on what she said, causing doubt and light annoyance to whoever speaks the untruthful word of his father. The other, however, is too antsy about his hunter to give a damn.

"Cass.." her voice drips with a longing, much familiar to what Castiel feels about the hunter: a pining for friendship.

He turns around and shoots her a glare: "Go."

Without another word, her wings flap as she flutters away, leaving the male angel to sigh softly. Without her here, the room is engulfed in quiet; silence is bad. An unsettling feeling presents itself deep within Castiel's gut as he feels something is off; something awful. Alistair's groaning ceases as everything silenced: he dreads the worst.

As quickly as Castiel can without causing too much noise, he rushes into the room to see his underlying thoughts confirm themselves. The demon held his thumb to the young Winchester's throat as he slowly chokes the life out of him. _How the hell did he manage to escape?!_ Quickly, Cass fumbles with the weapons on the table until his hand grasps the familiar demon knife before rushing forward to plunge it into Alistair's back. However, Alistair must've heard him coming, because he then turns around enough for Castiel's aim to miss and plunge into his shoulder-blade instead of his middle-back. As his attention shifts to the angel, he drops poor Dean and shoves him backward.

Uninstinctively, Castiel glances down at the older Winchester brother to confirm he's alive before turning back to the demon. He had missed slightly, only inches downward would've killed his corrupted soul.

The demon knife was a gift from Sam's demon girlfriend Ruby. Easily, it can pierce the demon inside and kill it and its host as easily as any regular homicide; but this demon is anything but the norm. He's a powerful 'SOB', as Dean puts it, and requires a lot more than a little knife to kill him.

"Oh, almost. Looks like God is on my side today." He smiles creepily as he talks in a nasally sneer. Angrily, and mostly out of impulse (to his own surprise), he thrusts his arm forward and uses telekinesis to twist the dagger painfully between his shoulder-blade and arm. As the disgruntled angel lets his arm drop, his ruffled brows come together, glaring whilst the demon tears the blade from his body and yells as he leaps angrily in response. Thankfully, Castiel backs up enough to avoid the blow, punching him in the face a few times and disregarding his angel blade. But this is just the angel's mistake when his head clouds with anger. In a moment of breath, Alistair shoves his body into the wall where — to just his luck — there happens to be a protruding lever. The skin breaks as the switch plunges into Castiel's body and muscles, blood vessels bursting and splattering on the wall behind him. It's just enough time of hesitation for the evil being to cup a hand around his throat.

"I _really_ wish I knew how to kill you." The demon hisses, fighting against Castiel and his struggling arms as they desperately try to find a grip on him. "All I can do is send you back to heaven."

He mutters a few words of Latin before Castiel feels his true, celestial form detaching from his vessel. he gasps slightly, white-hot against the angel exorcism spell. But before he can finish, an unknown force sends him to the opposing wall.

Cass turns and sees what he dreads to see, arm thrust forward as he uses his unholy abilities:

 _Sam._

~~ Hours later ~~

Cass races back to the hospital as blood pounds in his ears like a symphony of drums. _What in heaven and hell have I just done?_ The thought rings within his mind as he tries to remember how to apologize when he confronts his wounded friend. His pained wings carry him to the man he wishes to protect, and this leads him into a white hospital room. His blue gaze rests sorrowfully on the man put in harm's way and he cannot suppress a sigh. Silently, he shuts the door before peering out its window and into the hallway. Visiting hours have been over for hours, so the angel must ensure no one sees him. Once he confirms his entry went unnoticed, his porcelain-blue eyes glance over at the hunter he hurt. The blame falls on him, as he trusted the culprit who broke the devil's trap. The shorter man frowns softly as his gaze flits back to Dean's mangled face; it used to be so handsome before the fight. His nose is cut at the bridge and his eyes are bruised, but the tube allowing him to breathe had disappeared from his throat since the last time the angel left here.

Castiel takes a seat beside him like the guardian angel he should be before he realizes the patient is awake. Shifting uncomfortably in a stiff hospital chair, he breaks the silence:

"Are you alright?" The unfeeling angel asks in his rough voice per usual, his gaze kept on the opposing wall. Oddly, he cannot meet his hunter's eyes after what happened: even when every molecule of his being wants to. In his peripheral vision, he can see Dean's head turn towards his direction and back again.

"No thanks to you." The broken hunter mutters hoarsely, causing a pained feeling angels shouldn't have. He built up the image of Dean as a strong, impenetrable figure so seeing him like this creates a sickening twist in his gut. Castiel looks downwards.

"You need to be more careful," he stresses as his gruff voice softens for the first time in a while.

"You need to learn how to manage a damn devil's trap." Dean retorts sarcastically. Despite the jab, Cass finds himself relieved to know the Winchester's wit is still intact.

"That's not what I mean." Castiel shakes his head slightly but his gaze remains fixated on the wall. "Uriel is dead."

"Was it the demons?" Dean chokes out weakly, stressing Castiel's need to heal him; but he must wait just a little longer for his grace to recharge. The battle between Uriel and himself had drained a bit of his energy, and depleting it now would negatively impact his body. Earlier in the day, when they first dropped off Dean's unconscious body, Sam had demanded his healing abilities. No matter how much he wished he could, Castiel couldn't spare any, as he needed it to face this imminent threat. If Sam couldn't understand angels need time to recover, Dean should. There's this part of him he tries to hide: it's close to an understanding behind his green eyes. Perhaps Anna had reached out to him and explained their angelic struggles when she was human.

"It was disobedience." Cass sighs, knowing well of his fears and how they are anything but over. Castiel never wants to hurt anyone, but it's obvious now that conflict and harm are inevitable. The only hope he has left is to play both sides and hope heaven doesn't abandon him.

He can feel Dean's gaze resting upon him even as he's turned away. The angel cannot hold back the urge to stare back at his father's gorgeous creation any longer; for he turns his head back to the mangled face. Even if the sight pains him, it reminds him of who he's meant to be: "He was working against us."

The hunter nods a little, glancing back down at his chest before changing the subject. "Is it true? Did I break the first seal?" He pauses momentarily. "Did I start all this?"

Cass' gaze switches back to the floor before looking back up: angels cannot lie easily, and Dean deserves the truth. "Yes. We held a siege on Hell as we fought tooth and nail to get to you. But obviously, we were too late."

"Why didn't you just leave me there, then?" Castiel can tell he's choking back tears as his voice rises in strength. Unfeeling but concerned, the angel begins to pity this tremendous weight he carries. _These emotions are my sin._ He reminds himself before forcing them out of his mind (even if the task seems impossible).

"It's not... blame that falls on you, Dean," he assures the wounded hunter, gazing up and studying the ceiling panels and their intricate details: "It's fate. And the righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it." Sensing his growing anxiety, Cass turns his gaze back to the Winchester's and studies his facial features momentarily. Even when wounded, his eyes are beautiful; like a misty forest in the morning. "You have to stop it."

"Lucifer? The apocalypse? What does that mean?" He whispers with raw fear etched into each syllable. His voice is barely audible against the silence, and Castiel starts feeling as if he should comfort him: but he has no idea how. Silently, he will send a message to Anna and see if she could help (any other angel might convict him of treason):

 _'Is there any way to comfort someone that you know of?'_

"Hey!" The broken man's voice breaks the pleasant silence as his tone raises in desperation. Cass doesn't need to turn his head to see the pained expression in his eyes, for it's already etched into his brain: "Don't you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch. What does that mean?"

"I don't know..." His angel answers gravely, patiently waiting for Anna's response by studying the plain walls. _What's taking her so long?_ He cannot help but to wonder.

" _Bull!_ " He yells as loudly as his broken voice can muster before the dark-haired man turns and give him a gentle gaze: _He knows I am not supposed to be here, right?_

"I don't," Castiel says, but how he wishes he did. "Dean, they don't tell me much. All I know is" he pauses for the right words: "our fate rests with you." Unbeknownst to either man he really means: _My fate rests with you._

"Well, then you guys are screwed." He whispers with green eyes gathering tears as he fights to toughen them back. What Castiel finds odd about humans is their unwillingness to share their emotions: "I can't do it, Cass. It's too big..." He lets silence fill the air until he sniffs quietly and continues: "Alistair was right." He adds, his voice evening out. However, humans are so emotional and dramatic when they _do_ decide to show emotions. "I'm not all here, I'm not— I'm not strong enough."

Dean turns and his eyes meet an angel's momentarily, his eyes are calm as a soft side exposes itself. This reminds the angel of the first time they met: Not in the waking world, but in hell. Of course, Dean wouldn't remember this, because he blacked out soon after:

 _The angelic soldier brandishes his silver blade with ease, slashing and cutting into every demon who dares approach him. His mission is simple, even if others have failed before him. Far behind, Zachariah and Naomi can be heard grunting and slicing as fresh blood spills the air. They had cleared a path for the trench-coated man to slip through, but could not venture beyond that point. They held the line and prevented failure as the underdog angel went forth to collect the most important human, according to Heaven. He's supposed to be strong yet dimwitted, impatient and broken. But overall, he's stronger than any human he's come across. This is supposed to scare him, but somehow, it only sends a shiver of excitement up his spine: it's been forever since he was deployed on a field assignment._

 _Gripping his blade tighter, Castiel rushes forward into an eerie clearing filled with hanging bodies: some in pieces, some screaming bloody murder: but this doesn't affect the soldier in the slightest. Instead, his blue gaze rakes the crowd until it rests upon a muscular back. A bloodied knife rests within his grip, causing the angel's heart to sink slightly. Their mission was to get here before he gave in to the tortures, but it seems they were too late. Nevertheless, heaven and his superiors made it clear that this boy is important to fulfill destiny. This is why he rushes over and places a hand on his arm._

 _Immediately, scared green eyes snap backward and meet blue. His lips part confusingly before he licks them in thought. It felt like hours standing there: a bloodied corpse hangs before their eyes as they stand in literal hell but somehow, the world fades away. The angel's bloody hand, which rests on his forearm, begins to glow a purifying white, and in response, the righteous man's veins begin to glow with this energy. As this happens, their eyes remain locked; inquisitive and calm. He soon realizes he was doomed from the moment his hand touched his skin._

"Well, I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be." Dean snaps Castiel from his memory as the man blinks and turns his head like he's ashamed to be seen crying. He sniffles softly before the angel pivots his head back to the floor. Anna answers him shortly after: _'Look at you being soft. I've seen humans give hugs or quick kisses on the forehead. Who is it that you're trying to comfort?'_ But Castiel doesn't bother to respond and sighs. Dean attempts a few final words as his tears consume him. "Find someone else. It's not me."

The broken man glances over as a single tear escapes from his eye and Castiel decides —rested up or not — he should heal this poor man: he deserves that much. By now, he should be rested enough. Slowly, the benighted angel stands up and sits beside him on top of his hospital blanket. With a simple movement, he calmly rests his large palm onto his chest: Dean feels warm and pure despite being to Hell and back.

"I can't do that, Dean. You know I can't. I have faith that you can do this." Oddly, he feels the need to lean down to whisper as he lets his hand glow with celestial energy; the same hand that marked his arm. "This will hurt a touch, I'm sorry."

Dean grunts softly in pain when the angel heals his many wounds, his body jerking slightly in the initial shock of the energy. Once the glowing subsides, it leaves him to sigh in relief as the task finishes. Once Castiel gathers himself and begins to remove his hand, Dean does something surprising: he rips the tubes connecting his nose to an air pump and his IV needle from his wrist: he doesn't need them anymore. Sitting up and rushing forward, the broken man buries his face into Castiel's chest. _Hugs, right._ he thinks to himself as he hesitantly wraps his celestial arms around his back, rubbing gentle circles on his spine.

 _Dean resembles a candy I've come across in my travels and studies of this world: a lollipop._ Castiel thinks to himself as he contains the broken man's inner demons: _A stiff shell protects the scared little softie that rests on the inside. It takes plenitude to reach it, but once you're there, it's worth it._

Dean's body wracks into sobs held back for so long as the angel awkwardly tries to comfort him. Despite the awkward attribute, a small smile creeps onto his face when he realizes the trust within them both; a profound bond that usually takes a lifetime to find. So he lets the hunter sob into his trench-coat before his mind blanks and he plants a soft kiss into messy dirty brown locks. It's a sympathy that goes unnoticed by distraught Dean.

 _The white light disappears from the soldier's hand and the broken shell of the righteous man collapses into his arms. 40 years of hell does this to a person, he must remind himself, as he hoists the human into his arms to carry bridal-style. The journey back will be difficult; more than getting here. The demons don't want this man to leave, and if he must fight tooth and nail to do so, then he will. The soldier will get this human back into the world no matter the risk, nor the pain he might endure on the way up. If he can save Dean, Dean can save him too._

Once exhausted, the hunter looks up at his angel and his face lights up in a deep crimson. It can be inferred he's never broken down like this in front of anyone before— not even Sam. The look on his face portrays sheer vulnerability Castiel knows to be a first: he must maintain a strong visage for his brother. He seems to be embarrassed, Cass concludes: for he backs up an inch and pouts slightly.

"If you tell Sammy about any of this, I will _personally_ rip you to shreds." He defends his fragile masculinity with signature toughness, only leading the angel to smile softly. Castiel is happy to know he is himself again. Happiness? Oh dear.

"I wouldn't advise that as wise." He points out before the hunter rolls his eyes.

"Just don't tell him, okay?" The sheer desperation in his voice alone is enough to convince the conflicted angel.

Despite the broken hug, the two men sit close together. Dean's legs are sprawled over Castiel's hips: an action too dirty for innocent Cass and a broken-down hunter to notice. The angel's arms rest at his hips in front of him; they had dropped when Dean released him. Once noticing the position, the Winchester's face flushes a little in red, an embarrassment his angel mistakes for his unplanned breakdown. But few words escape the angel's lips; the only ones he can think to say:

"I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

 **ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?  
** This episode has very important developments in relation to the friendship between angel and human. Because of the scene change, it gave me creative liberty to include Castiel's reaction in accordance with Dean crying five feet from his face. Although the angel doesn't understand what the hug nor chaste forehead kiss meant, he did it for Dean (like he always does). I included a pre-season 4 scene as well just to remind the readers that rescuing Dean from hell wasn't a simple _grab and go_ task. Castiel had to fight to get him free; even if it was under the orders of heaven. The writers never explained how Cass managed to pull him out nor if Dean remembers it or not, so I decided to add in a headcanon for that. What are your theories? I'd love to hear them! 3


	7. (S4) Not On My Own (FILLER)

**[CASTIEL POV]  
** {S4 E18 QUOTE}

 _"Oh, I know how you ripped  
_ _Alistair apart like it was nothing;  
_ _like you were swatting a fly.  
_ _Cass told me, okay?_ "

* * *

"Dean, we need to talk." A handsome angel begins as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. After a moment's hesitation, he cocks his head in the direction of his hunter, Dean. As he stands a few feet in front of the celestial, his shoulders roll smoothly in thought as his back guards the emotions he wears on his face.

It's been a week since the angel's mistake; the one which caused him to _feel_ for the first time. Off and on the hunter and his angel run into another, but their visits haven't been very frequent. In the midst of their struggle with the seals, Castiel had tried to work out the relationship between himself and the brothers. Sam is friendly towards him, but Dean is complicated. Frankly, the angel isn't convinced the hunter trusts him as much as _he_ trusts _him._ Although smart, the angel's naivety fails to pick up Dean's true faults: his trust issues and Philophobia, and he mistakes this as skepticism. But even despite his lack of faith, the angel realized he would trust Dean with his life. This is why Cass had no choice but to disguise his voice as the Winchester's surrogate father a few days prior. The angel was afraid of the potential rejection due to said mistrust, and the mission was much too important for failure.

These feelings are strange to the celestial and they only become weirder as he begins to discover more of these human feelings. He's spent some time pondering why he's able to feel such things, but nothing sticks out in his mind. Perhaps slaughtered angels and ones deployed unto Earth contribute to this: his power _does_ come from the angels within heaven. The fewer angels upstairs, the less his power. Possibly, this could allow a slice of humanity to penetrate through the cold, unfeeling shell of his celestial essence: This is the only theory that makes sense.

Presently, both man and angel stand in a modern hotel room. There are two queen beds draped with blue sheets: one is made whilst the other is thrown haphazardly together. The walls are washed with baby blue and finished with white trim bordering the walls like clouds in the sky. Looking around briefly, Castiel notices Sam had forgotten his morning coffee upon the wooden countertop. The young brother had gone on a food run before Castiel teleported into the room; this was before the angel scared the other brother half to death upon arrival. The melodramatic adult had hissed angerly at his angel under his breath as a result, since Cass hasn't been in touch as recently as Dean wants him to be. This is where they are now:

"What? What is _possibly_ more important than the damn apocalypse?" Dean enthuses, sarcasm and frustration oozing from every word that slips his mouth. He paces the plush carpet hurridly as he tries to think. But just as Castiel opens his mouth to reply, Dean cuts in again: "Talking about the apocalypse: _bang-up_ job stopping those seals by the way. How many have you stopped now? 1, 2? Great job: maybe we could've saved more if you would _answer my damn prayers._ " Dean Winchester, spitting with rage, grumbles in the face of the trench-coat angel after he turns on his heel and exposes his flush face. His cheeks are crimson with misunderstanding, but the angel stays calm. Never before has he gotten angry over a misunderstanding, nor can he bring himself to stay mad at Dean. Castiel only sighs softly in response, leaving the air still and uncomfortably silent. Dean huffs with satisfaction into calm blue eyes that dazzle like the sun does upon a lake. But when the hunter turns away, Cass' rough voice breaks the air like sandpaper on a piece of wood:

"It's about Sam." His voice escapes him like a heavy weight. With _Sam_ , Dean turns around again as his face morphs from flushed to confused. Castiel knows how hard the human is trying to maintain his masculine composure, but the mask doesn't fool him much. Like all people of Earth, Dean is an open book; the angel can read his doubts, insecurities, and even his sympathies. Dean seems to like to think people view him as these things, so Castiel pretends not to notice. The only thing he cannot see is his deepest secrets.

"What about Sammy?" Dean growls as he dares a step closer; just another and their noses would surely touch. Cass remains calm, as he knows Dean isn't cross with him: he's merely releasing his pent-up anger onto the nearest living being. Dean Winchester is notorious for his anger issues and his lack of self-control over his outbursts. Because of this, the angel doesn't even flinch as the Winchester dares his eyes with fire.

"Alistair didn't just... run away. I was conscious when your brother showed up." The host of heaven responds with a small gulp. As the close proximity hits him in a wave of hot breath, A small twinge of warmth begins to prickle in his gut; a feeling like playful butterfly kisses brushing against his sides. However, the angel is too focused to recognize and pinpoint the sensation.

"Cass.. tell me what happened." The hunter's voice lowers in intensity gradually and before the angel knows it, he's sitting on the bed opposing Dean. Softly, Castiel fingers the blue, cloth sheets with his index finger and thumb as he recalls the situation. He glances down briefly before his gaze comes to rest on luscious green irises. Like always, both men find themselves lost in the other's eyes. It isn't an uncommon circumstance, their eye-intercourse commences whenever this occurs. Undoubtedly, the staring makes Sam uncomfortable (as it should) but somehow, the ignorant men don't notice this.

However, all good things have to come to an end eventually, as Cass looks down and begins his story:

 _~THE DAY OF CASTIEL'S MISTAKE~_

 _Castiel rocketed backward into a protruding lever with supernatural force, the cool metal plunged through his clothes, skin, and back muscles until he could swear he felt it scrape against his inner ribcage. Alistair held the angel by his trench coat collar when he looked up with a bloodied face; both of them wore battle abrasions, but the demon took the most damage._

 _"You know... like roaches, you celestials." He had spat as he moved his hand to choke the being who saved Dean— twice counting today. He wouldn't lie if he admitted he wouldn't think twice to sacrifice himself for the broken man. "I really wish I knew how to kill you."_

 _Castiel huffed softly as he struggled against his grip. Choking didn't affect him much, it just debilitated his vessel slightly and his arms couldn't reach his attacker._

 _"But all I can do is send you back to heaven." He wagged his finger in front of cyan eyes when he shook his head slightly as Castiel bared his teeth like an attack dog. He knew what was coming, and he knew it would hurt like a mother. This is why his eyes portrayed his underlying fear._

 _Being sent back to heaven would be worse than torture. Upon his failure, they would lecture him, beat him, and reprogram him until he cannot think straight. He would be restored to factory settings in the most painful way before meeting with his bosses. They would drill him once more until he could kill dean without even much of a glance in the Winchester's direction. This, to the angel, would not be okay. Although his superiors despise his relationship with humanity, Castiel had begun to feel adoration for this broken little world. To be taken of this emotion would be failure in his own eyes._

 _With perfect diction, Alistair spat out a Latin chant in a low mumble and caused a small burning sensation to knock the angel from his thoughts. He raises his volume as he continues his chant, in which caused the angel to groan slightly in agony. The pain shook every molecule within his body, dislodging his grip on poor Jimmy Novak. The incantation when on without protest: No sound could come out when the demon was choking his vessel's vocal cords. Yet as his true form burned white hot as it prepared to be hurled back into heaven, the unexpected happened._

 _Alistair had begun to choke softly, which allowed the heavenly host to settle himself back into his vessel. With a swift movement, the demon was thrown against a sturdy brick wall hissing and leaving the angel to marvel at the man who saved his life._

 _Sam._

 _Cass sighed quietly in relief as the lever slipped from his back and he fell to his knees. Like a panic attack, the spell had weakened the angel. Standing adjacent from him was Dean's younger brother with an arm thrust forward and his gaze locked onto Alistair. His hair swished majestically from his face; revealing cold, deep brown eyes. That's the peculiar thing about Sam's eyes: they always seem to be changing their color._

 _"Stupid pet tricks..." the demon muttered against the young man's psychic abilities. All the angel could do is stare agapely and watch as the scene unfolded. He couldn't quite stop Sam, his vessel_ and _his celestial body was still in great physical agony. He was weak and didn't need to waste his energy on a problem that can solve itself._ _Nevertheless, Castiel wanted to stop him from worsening the situation, and he struggles to his feet._ _Despite the throbbing choices in his head, the angel cannot move his body past a knelt position on the floor. He stands paralyzed in confusion and concern when he watches the two men fight._

 _"Who's murdering the angels? How are they doing it?" Sam demanded as Cass caught his breath. His voice sounded cold: no different from the creature he threatens to kill._

 _"Heh, y-you think I'm gonna tell you?" The demon snarks with a laugh even as his bloody and battered body_ threatens _to give out._

 _"Yeah I do." Sam had responded matter-of-factly before his fingers clenched slightly and his wrist rotated with emphasis. Alistair started to gag violently and his eyes rolled back into his head. Castiel allowed confusion and terror to seep from his face as a result. Sam continues in an anger-fueled growl: "How are the demons killing angels?!"_

 _"I... don't.. know!" Alistair snarled through uneven breaths when the Winchester raised his voice. All Castiel could do was watch in horror as Alistair gargled on his own throat. Suddenly, the angel couldn't breathe; as he couldn't distinguish the hunter from the monster. "It's.. not... us! We're... not doing it!"_

 _"Right." Sam huffed sarcastically as a new side revealed itself. This Sam... it's dark, unforgiving. It contrasts drastically to the calm and sweet personality Castiel is used to. He turns to Sam, pure terror_ _filling his face. "I don't believe you."_

 _"Lilith.. is not behind this." Alistair groans against his collapsed throat; Sam had closed his fist. The angel's eyes widen slightly when Sam begins to smile at his_ work; _as if he enjoys the power the blood is giving him. Unable to look upon him any longer, Castiel turned to Alistair's evil grin: "She wouldn't kill seven angels... She'd kill 100... 1,000."_ _With the answer, Sam releases Alistair's throat, leaving the demon to hyperventilate briefly. But alas, his wit hasn't disappeared. His voice slithers out of his mouth in a cocky whisper: "Oh go ahead, send me back.. if you can."_

 _Sam, however, isn't finished. "I'm stronger than that now," He started with a smile, a devious grin that sent shivers down Castiel's spine. It's no doubt that he's beginning to fear the man, as what he said next shook him to the bone: "_ _Now, I can **kill**."_

 _The angel turns his head and his brows come together in a_ concerted _manner._ What in the hell is Sam thinking?! _Is all that came to his mind as the boy with the demon blood began to exercise and murder the torturer right before his eyes. His eyes closed peacefully despite the morbid act and his palm comes forward, the thumb tucked into the side. His breathing is steady even as Alistair, presumably the king of torture, began to yell in anguish._

 _After momentous screaming, Alistair died in a flash of golden light beneath his vessel's bones, in which left a shocked expression engraved onto his dead face. Sam was breathing heavily before he turned to Castiel, who still bore a face of mixed emotions. Sam, on the other hand, couldn't hold the angel's gaze like_ _Dean could, so he found himself glancing down awkwardly and walking away to check on his brother. Castiel cannot look at the man the same way ever again._

 _~~PRESENTLY~~_

"... and then we took you to a nearby hospital." The nerdy angel finishes his story with a small sigh, leaving Dean sitting frozen in shock. Castiel knew it would be hard to process this information and frankly, he had no idea how the human would react.

After a given moment, Dean's brows come together and his face hardens into a thin line. He doesn't meet Castiel's gaze for a moment as his strained voice leaves him. "And you waited to tell me this because?"

Castiel was prepared for this question; after all, it had been more than a few weeks since the incident. He glances down and picks at a loose thread which formed at the blanket's hem before he gazes up with eyes bluer than blue itself. "Because I thought you knew, Dean. You haven't noticed his strange behavior?" The angel sighs and looks away: "You should have seen the way he looked at Alistair. it..." He pauses as he searches for the right words: "It frightened _me_ , and I am a celestial being.

Dean considers this for a moment before he shakes his head softly. His anger simmers and broils under his skin until he can't fight it any longer. The hunter pushes himself off the bed and he leaps forward onto the black-haired being. It doesn't take long before he's pinning Castiel beneath his weight (even if the angel can escape any time he wants to). Frankly, Castiel feels like Dean deserves the satisfaction of thinking he intimidates him. There is nothing to dean's knowledge that could physically hurt him. Dean's is hand reaches up and grips the shocked angel's collar (even if he's willing, he didn't expect this turn of events) as he pushes himself over him, his hips adjacent with the other man's. Dean isn't one to straddle, but there seems to be no other way to be intimidating on a bed. Dean would've much preferred a wall.

"You didn't think— not for _a second_ — to _stop_ Sammy from using his powers?" The aggressive hunter growls, but Castiel cannot find it in himself to be angry with the worrisome hunter. Suddenly, something in his hips begins to feel uncomfortable under the hunter's weight, and he shifts a little to relieve the pressure; in which only worsens the sensation. However, Castiel pays no attention to this feeling, nor does he find it surprisingly satisfying; he cannot bring himself to admit it.

"Dean," the angel glares at him through lidded eyes as he squirms slightly under him. Whatever Dean is doing to him, the intimidation seems to be working: Castiel seems frozen with confusion and uncomfortability. "I was weak; I could barely move and my abilities were drained. Have _you_ ever been ripped from your body?"

"Try pulled from Hell," Dean grunts softly— whether it's due to his own uncomfortable hips or the angel's excuse isn't clear to Castiel— before he pulls his collar closer to his face. "Still, you didn't do _anything_?"

"It is not my job to babysit your brother and you, and Sam was doing something good. He stopped Alistair without any negative repercussions." Castiel retorts through bared teeth. By now, their faces are merely a nose-length apart. If it wasn't for Castiel's male vessel, Dean would've probably initiated angry sex by now. The angel knows Dean enough to infer this much; moreover, he knows Dean far more than he alludes to. When the heavenly host was stationed to watch the people of Earth, he'd often find himself gazing upon the Winchester family and their two young boys. He grew fond of Dean and his independence; his loyalty to his father.

However, the angel doesn't tell him now or ever: telling Dean he's been stalking him for years isn't exactly a comfortable topic. Instead, Castiel snaps out of his daze and pushes Dean up, shoving him over onto the other bed so _he's_ the one towering over the righteous man. The angel pins down his shoulders with his arms as his pelvis anchors Dean's to the bed. However, something feels different about these hips; something is there he hasn't noticed before. Whatever it is, Cass is too preoccupied with his hunter's tongue as it dances across his bottom lip in a quick, swishing motion and his eyes as they sparkle with angry flames.

"It's not my place to decide these things for your brother, Dean. However, if it comes to it; if Sam crosses the line; I will be the one to stop him." Castiel whispers gravelly as he watches Dean's face twist with emotions. The hunter's mind is fuzzy, filled with a fog he cannot read through. Instead of prying, the angel narrows his eyes. "I'm not the Winchester's angel, Dean. There are other missions, seals... you must understand the bigger picture here."

The mortal man gulps softly as Cass releases his grip and stands up. A painful protrusion has appeared on his hips, causing the fabric to bulge as it attempts to keep whatever in. It's uncomfortable for the innocent angel, as he fidgets with his waistband awkwardly. With the movement, Dean chuckles softly.

"What?" Castiel's face flushes in embarrassment as Dean stands up. He smoothes his hair with one hand as he flashes the celestial with a coy smirk. His eyes dart around like he wants to stare but he quickly decides against it. The angel narrows his eyes in order to defend his dominance in the situation.

"Nothing... nothing." Dean chuckles softly before he stands up and walks to the fridge, leaving Cass cluelessly flustered.

Castiel can tell that underneath the jokes, Dean is trying to forget the monster his brother has become. _His coping mechanism is sex, girls, humor, and beer._ the being realizes as Dean comes back with two bottles of the cold substance. Dean sighs and holds one out for Castiel, who hesitates.

"You do realize it doesn't affect me in the slightest?" the angel tilts his head slightly as Dean holds his arm forward. Celestials have tried drinking before, but the effects are nigh until one drinks an entire liquor store. Yet Castiel takes the drink anyways, for he doesn't want to be rude.

"It doesn't matter, its something." Dean shrugs the situation from his shoulders with a single motion. Castiel knows how the hunter always pretends these things are fine when clearly they aren't. This will eat him up inside slowly and painfully without Sam's knowledge nor understanding. He doesn't want to fear his brother, but the evidence is stacked against him: the only thing left to do is push it aside and choose one of the four things listed to distract himself from reality. Booze is today's choice.

Despite the analogy, Castiel doesn't say a thing about it: oddly, he cannot bring himself to utter the words. Instead, the two sit on the bed drinking and discussing things from Dean's life when his dad was around to Castiel's experience in a female vessel. It's obvious, their friendship: even Sam sees it when he walks into the door, peering over arms loaded with plastic bags. He smiles softly to himself as they forget to notice his return before the sound of Dean's short chuckle causes his brother to feel deep and genuine joy— Castiel can feel his emotional aura. All Sam wants is for his brother to be happy, even through his evil deeds.

Maybe Castiel will be the one to crack Dean's harsh shell and shelter the scared boy inside. Maybe he will be the one to show him a happiness he's never known. Maybe Castiel will learn to become his guardian angel.

 _[Hey guys! I was rewatching this episode when I noticed a filler opportunity! I hope you like it!  
_ _EDIT: I edited this a bit because some of the dialogue didn't make sense to me; so yeah, the main concept is the same!]_

W/c: 3604

* * *

 **ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?  
** This piece of dialogue is very important to their relationship. "Cass told me" tells the audience that they're friends and truthful with one another. Obviously, there are to be negative repercussions once your best friend tells you your brother killed a demon with his mind and that he didn't do anything to stop him, but this would've been an important development for their relationship.


	8. (S4) Bluebird

**[OMNICENT POV]  
** {S4 E21}

* * *

Time passes like cars racing down an endless highway as the constant buzzing steadily increases in Castiel's head. His brain remains polluted with a false message of righteousness: a path which disregards the Winchester brothers for the time being. No matter his feelings, he must leave them alone for the sake of their safety. Almost all 66 seals have shattered and Heaven busies the angels preparing for a prophecy to fulfill itself. This includes the celestial responsible for raising Dean Winchester: a man who's rumored to end it all and who's notorious for his binge drinking, his charming demeanor, and his bad temper.

This older Winchester brother is engulfed with anxiety, stress, and utter confusion. Recently, he had caught his beloved brother Sammy in a horrendous act, which revealed a horrid addiction. As gruesome as drinking demon blood seems, it turns its drinker into something powerful. Unholy blood pumps through his veins, turning him closer to the monster his brother frets he will become. Dean had no choice but to isolate Sam until he passes the substance from his system. He must, even through the persistent screams and cries for help his brother utters through his hallucinations.

Dean's last hope is his angel, which is why he's been screaming into the dark void of space humanity calls the stars. Faith in Castiel's appearance isn't high considering the last time they met, as it didn't end on friendly terms. Their last memory together still pains Dean in ways he cannot begin to imagine. All the moments; their developed friendship— it feels like it's something of the past. It's like having an old friend whom he still adores, yet he's become torn away from the security of the friendship. Despite the odds, he finds himself screaming and yelling himself raw at the empty shells of used cars, and begging for his former friend to reveal himself.

After what feels like hours, his angel finally appears, clothed in a dim golden light originating from a dilapidated street lamp. Time seems to hinder when Cass' wings fluttering into existence with its gentle sound barely audible above a passing train's whistle. As Dean turns to face the perplexed angel, he cannot decide whether to be angry or relieved.

"Well, it's about time!" He shouts hoarsely as his eyes narrow into angry slits and leaving Castiel surprisingly expressionless. He stands unphased in the dim night and it reminds Dean of the night they met: "I've been screaming myself hoarse out here for about two and a half hours now."

"What do you want?" Castiel asks simply, disregarding his feelings completely. Weeks ago, something happened to him; a mere reprimand that reminded him of his true place. This changed his attitude and where he stands in the belief of destiny, whether he wants it to or not. Whenever he closes his eyes, the horrid memory sears through his subconscious:

 _~~Weeks ago~~_

 _Castiel screamed as his angelic body was torn from his vessel, skyrocketing him all the way back to heaven. Although painful, he knew this burning would compare nothing to his impending punishment. He crash-landed into a building filled with white lights that illuminated the darkened shadows of his brothers and sisters gathered around him. Of course, he isn't the most liked in heaven: not after what happened anyways. He had helped a fugitive angel who killed his brother. Even if the crime is justified by his disobedience, the angels didn't care. One of them stepped forward and gripped his collar tightly: Zachariah, his superior._

 _"Castiel, what the hell were you doing?" He had said aggressively in a whisper, an angry silence that sent an unpleasant shiver down the angel's spine. His touch was bone-chilling; and because he was an angel like himself, Castiel could_ feel _himself bruising under his knuckles._

 _"I need to warn them." The confused angel replied, in which earns him a slap to the face. To the others, his emotions are his biggest sin. They all saw it— the jealousy in his pale blue eyes when Dean Winchester kissed the fallen angel Anna; his unfamiliar longing to be in her place. This, plus the envious thoughts which appeared when Dean took her down in the back seat of the sleek impala, prove his corruption. The feeling of gratitude when Dean saved his life from Alistair isn't to be shown nor thought about, either. These moments, these little glimpses into humanity's greatest pleasures— it's sin for an angel to possess them. But alas, Dean and his younger brother are the naive angel's weakness. He's fallen for humanity and this man is the reason why._

 _"You know your place. You cannot tell them anything about their destinies." Zachariah connects his fist with Castiel's angular jaw, thus sending him to the ground with force. Although he's an angel just as Castiel is, the under-ranking being knew better than to fight back. He was in enough trouble already and he knew how the hierarchy works._

 _"But—" he begins to protest as he struggles to his feet, but he's only forced down again by two new sets of hands. They hook up under his arms and prevent any means of escape._

 _"I said no." He repeated as he slapped him once more; and Castiel feels the full force of this without recoil. However, the price of disobedience will prove much worse than this small beating. He will be reshapened and programmed back to his factory settings, hindering his emotions to a thing of the past. Nevertheless, this was nothing compared to what was to come if he fell like Anna. Zachariah huffs a deep breath to compose himself as he waits for Castiel to refocus on the conversation:_ _"Or else we'll have no choice."_

 _"All due respect, but I know as well as you that the true vessels must be protected." The angel half-protested and half-groaned softly in enochian as he spat fluorescent blood onto clean, bleached tiles. When he looked up again through his graceful eyes, Zachariah only sighed._

 _"There are other vessels out there, the brothers are expendable." Was his answer, resulting a slight gasp from the corrupted angel. He knew Michael— Zachariah's superior— would disprove of this claim, but he held his tongue. He hung his head softly as the arrogant angel jerked his head somewhere to the left:. "Keep your mouth shut. If anything, they should respect you."_

 _The disobedient angel raised his head to protest but no sound came out. Instead, his mouth hung agape as the two other angels dragged him away into the room of dread: Heaven's personal hell._

 _Blood-red walls await Castiel as his protesting body itches with paranoia. He has only been in here once before, and it had been a mistake. This time, he doesn't regret his actions in the slightest. With his back facing them, a human stands in the center of the chaos: this is his heaven, after all. Cylous Greed is a horror fan, thus making this the perfect room for intimidation. Off to the side, another celestial being is one with the room. He is the angel Shoftiel; the angel of judgement._

 _"Castiel... it is curious to see you here again." He mumbles and flicks his hand to the side. Hurriedly, he can feel the beings at his side deposit his body and scurry off._

 _"Shoftiel, are you well?" Cass attempts a friendly conversation in enochian (the default language in heaven), but his question goes unanswered._

 _"What did you do this time?" The angel turns his face only enough for his piercing black eyes to sear bullets through the guilty angel. In response, Castiel shivered—_

"Well, you can start with what the hell happened in Illinois." The hunter begins, snapping the angel out of his haunting memory. Dean maintains a gaze fixed on the azure pools that freed him from a life of sin. His gaze never wavers as his savior approaches almost cautiously: they both know what he refers to.

Before banished to heaven, Castiel appeared in Dean's head to relay an important piece of information: a meeting place. This is because the topic was too risky to discuss inside Dean's subconscious, Castiel explained. However, the angel never made it to said location and his empty vessel was found unconscious and clueless to the situation. Castiel was attacked and blown away into heaven before speaking another word to the Winchesters, and that's all Dean knows: he doesn't know nor bother to ask about his submission to heaven.

"What do you mean?" The angel asks gruffly in attempt to avoid the question. By now, Castiel stands a few feet away from the frustrated Winchester brother as he attempts to hold back the emotions spilling into his chest cavity. He isn't supposed to feel this way, it's not natural.

"Cut the crap, you were gonna tell me something." Dean's scoff portrays his uncanny annoyance with heaven, his brother, and his only friend's stupidity. The day has been stressful for Dean, and Castiel's coy ignorance doesn't help in the slightest.

"Well, nothing of import." Cass responds coolly, frustrating Dean further. The angel doesn't want to hurt his friend, so he has no choice but to lie. Never before has he understood the importance of a white lie, but today he realizes its significance.

"You got ass-reamed in heaven, but it was 'not of import?'" He scoffs as the celestial being turns away from his cold gaze. He doesn't expect Dean to understand his troubles: not anymore, at least.

"Dean... I can't," His words tumble softly from a face resembling a wounded puppy. Those eyes; Dean cannot stand those eyes in this state. Glittering with sorrow, cyan pools of wonder and grace stare back at his hunter's mossy irises. Castiel admires something else about the green eyes before him. They are mesmerizing to him: clearer than the sky and greener than the fields in heaven. But eternity only lasts a moment, as one second later, Cass finds he cannot hold the other man's gaze: It's too heartbreaking to know he must betray him in order to save him. "I'm sorry." He breathes before Dean's gaze follows the dark-haired being as he shuffles away from his him. Scuffing the dirt, the angel speaks up once more: "Get to the reason you really called me. It's about Sam, right?"

Even with his back turned, Cass feels Dean's eyes burning through his invisible wings: eyes that he cannot bring himself to look at. If eyes are windows to the soul, the angel cannot bring himself to gaze upon his heartwreck and be fine.

"Can he do it?" Dean's masculine voice cuts the air and silences the angel's heel: "Kill Lilith, stop the apocalypse?"

"Possibly, yes." He replies as he tries to decide if he wants to try the eyes again. Unconsciously, he turns around and stares back in Dean's direction before he can second-guess himself. "But as you know, he'd have to take certain steps."

"Crank up the hell-blood regimen." The hunter nods and finishes his sentence. Both men wield faces of pity and sorrow, but each for different reasons. Dean worries for his brother as Castiel worries for the Winchesters. The angel wants to push out his angelic coding and fight for his friends, but he knows he cannot; not yet anyway. He knows their destinies, yet he cannot share them aloud. He must play the good soldier for just a little while longer: It's for the greater good of everyone, even if it proves to be more painful than the reprogramming itself.

"Consuming the amount of blood it would take to kill Lilith would change your brother forever," Cass confirms as he studies the beautiful creation. Even scrunched up in sorrow and pain, Dean's face never ceases to amaze the angel. "Most likely, he would become the next creature that you would feel compelled to kill.

"There's no reason this would have to come to pass, Dean," As the older Winchester brother relaxes into painful realization, his angel immediately retaliates with a solution: "We believe it's you, Dean, not your brother."

Slowly, Cass shuffles up to stand closer to the troubled man, disregarding any sense of personal space there could've been. Dean makes a mental note to discuss this later, even if he personally doesn't mind it: Others might.

"The only question for us is whether you're willing to accept it." Cass adds lowly, noticing how his hunter's eyes dart around every time he realizes he's stared too long; like he's searching for a place to rest his eyes without being awkward about it. In reality, Dean is confused with his brain's inner longings and sympathies. He wants to get closer to the angel. _Not like that—Dean, stop thinking about it._ He reprimands himself subconsciously. Even after everything —being forced to torture and scream for Castiel's attention— the feeling remains. This leads him to ponder what the hell is wrong with his brain. "Stand up, and accept your role." Were the words that snap Dean back into reality. "You are the one who will stop it."

Castiel, on the contrary, feels immense pain gazing into Dean's scared eyes. Yet Dean is the one to look away first, as the young man can barely handle the puppy dog gaze cast upon him. His visage lulls him into a trance: a calm, peaceful state of mind. However, it also makes him scared: the power of such emotions can destroy even the darkest of demons.

By now, both brothers know the price of love. Merely years ago, they would give anything (even their own soul) to raise the other back to life. Their father sold his soul; Dean sold his soul; Sammy _tried_ to sell his soul in exchange for Dean's. It all comes in full circle, and Dean realizes soon enough of these emotions and how it could lead him down the same road.

"If I do this... Sammy doesn't have to?" Dean inhales softly as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

"If it gives you comfort to see it that way." The angel replies with a sigh. Lying is against his entire being, but he must do it. He plays it off as if he's ignorant about relations between brothers, as he obviously doesn't understand the importance of family and how one finds it necessary to sacrifice themselves for it. However, Dean takes it another way.

"God, you're a fucking dick these days." He scoffs, brushing past the angel and walking forward a pace or two. Castiel's lips press together as he forces his eyes to stop glittering. _Words hurt, Dean_.

"Fuck.." he mutters to himself, as he doesn't have much a choice. After a few moments of being melodramatic, Dean sighs. Perhaps it's because he's desperate for a win, or he wants to save his brother, but he finally says: "Fine, I'm in."

"Do you give yourself over wholly to the service of God and his angels?" Castiel doesn't even turn to his hunter as he recites the words.

"Yeah, exactly." Dean nods. However, Castiel stands his dominant ground.

"Say it." The angel demands, yet his voice doesn't come out harsh. For some reason, Dean begins to feel part of some angelic-kink Jesus porno. His brother has told him about his mindset and how it has a hard time distinguishing reality and porn, after all. But as he turns around and sees the face of his distressed friend, he feels too pitiful to not repeat the could-be-kinky dialogue.

"I give myself over wholly. To serve God... and you guys." Dean repeats reluctantly as he walks back to his original spot in front of Cass. It'd feel too weird to say 'and you' in this context so he decided to shift the words a little. Daringly, he stares directly in Cass' straight blue gaze, almost threatenly, as they stand completely still. It feels almost like the angel means something else under those words — or maybe it's that Dean thinks this is some sort of angelic kink.

"You swear to follow his will and his word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father's?" Cass goes on, quite confused at the other man's body language. _Why is he so uncomfortable with this?_ He can not suppress the thought.

"Yes, I swear." Dean practically says under his breath. They continue to gaze at one another— the short angel stooping his head upwards to gauge eye level with the tall, muscular man before him. Both pairs of lips part softly; curiously; as the gazing intensifies. If their eyes were bodies, there's no telling what they would be doing right now: something forbidden to the angel and something a womanizer could've never imagined doing. all things have to end eventually. It seems like an eternity before the angel nods and Dean speaks up once again. "Now what?"

It takes a moment before the celestial can snap back into reality and process what the young man had said. "Now, you wait, and we call on you when it's time."

With these words, their little staring contest commences once again. It's almost impossible to break the bond between blue and green, especially when irises lock and meet like the tide does the shore. Whether the two know it or not, they depend on one another. Both cannot go on without the other, as the thought pains them both in ways they cannot begin to fathom. The world could be on fire, but their gaze would still be locked. It's almost Armageddon, but all they can think about is the other (and Sam). Of course, Sam is the only one of the three that can sense the profound friendship between an angel of the Lord and his ignorant brother. As awkward as third-wheeling is, he doesn't necessarily mind it in certain circumstances. All he's ever wanted is for his brother to be happy; not his usual, faking happy, but something genuine for once. He believes this Castiel can do that for him. As for Dean, he's oblivious to the certain situation he faces. The older Winchester has always played the bad boy and womanizer act to fool his father, his brother, and even himself about feelings he's hidden most of his life. He's always found men more attractive to women: this is why he's never hit on a man before, for he's scared of rejection and of his father's disapproval. That, and because he doesn't see himself with a guy. The idea is strange to him. He wishes he was completely straight— he enjoys acting the part - but even with obvious thoughts in his head, he still convinces himself he's heterosexual. He tells himself its normal to find other guys good-looking, to become awkward around them, or even watch straight porn to study the guys. But how long with this facade last?

 **[DEAN POV]**

~~The next morning~~

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but you willingly signed up to be the angels' bitch?" Bobby Singer asks, his surprise scrunching his brows and flattening his lips into a disapproving frown. In response, Dean tilts his head slightly and activated his bitch-face. Just yesterday, Dean was complaining about how bitchy and demanding the angels are, so Dean can understand Bobby's appalled expression. With sarcasm etching every line in his face, Bobby rolls his eyes and corrects himself: "I'm sorry, do you prefer ' _sucker'_?

"After everything you said about them, _now_ you trust them?" Bobby adds under squinted eyes and his arms cross. It's obvious he doesn't approve.

"Come on, give me a little credit, Bobby." Dean defends himself as he dares a step closer to the old man. "I've never trusted them less."

A half-lie: Yes, he doesn't trust angels— all, that is, but Castiel.

Strikingly, a part of him actually kind of sort of was attracted to the idea of being the angels' bitch. _Could you imagine how hot of a porno (or one-shot) that would be?_ He cannot help but ponder to himself when he's alone with his thoughts. Yes, Dean can be submissive if it's the right girl. Alas, despite his obvious longing for Castiel, Dean has downgraded the feeling to be a side effect of his lacking friendships. There's no way he could be gay for this angel. This would prove strange; Not that he's homophobic in any way, he just doesn't see himself with a guy.

Not yet, at least.

* * *

 **ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?  
** Even tortured, beaten, and reprogrammed through heaven, Castiel still takes the time to stop what he's doing and confront Dean. His facial expressions are huge in this episode: he looks like he's on the verge of breaking down multiple times. This shows even through his 'all mighty' appearance, he's scared of his feelings and he wants more than anything just to tell Dean it will be okay. This text is important because of this. Castiel is going through an emotional struggle yet he still stands for Dean and offers him a solution.

 _[ so I didn't have much to go off on in this episode, but I wanted to include it because of 1. Angst and 2. Eye sex. Hmm, thanks Dean for breaking the fourth wall, you've given me some nifty ideas for future one-shots.]_

 _Sources (for angel judgement:) Jude 1:6 "_ And the angels who did not stay within their own position of authority, but left their proper dwelling, he has kept in eternal chains under gloomy darkness until the judgment of the great day—"


	9. (S4) Count on Me (FILLER)

**[DEAN POV]  
** {S4 E21.5}

* * *

"You walk out that door... don't you _ever_ come back." Dean Winchester wheezes and gasps as he tries to regain his breath.

 _How did it ever come to this?_ Dean thinks as he watches the towering man before him. Letting out a sharp exhale, his gargantuan brother walks out of the room without another sound. Eerily, the room turns quiet save for the soft prodding of Sam's retreating footsteps.

Even if this is his fault, the pain is just the same. Dean would've never expected his brother to do what he's done today; not in a thousand lifetimes. Dean has told Sammy to ditch the demon he kept trusting —Ruby is her name— but Sammy refused. Whether it's because he's in love with her or he's addicted to her blood is beyond the older brother. The Sasquatch instead _protected_ her before he confronted his older brother about the situation. Most of the time, Dean's head was clouded with his own opinion, as arrogance disregarded Sammy's perspective of the matter. Who would be dumb enough to consume _demon_ blood from a fucking _demon_ , and then decide to fucking work with them? This is when the ignorant brother called him the word he knows Sammy hates the most: a monster; a freak. Even still, a tear rolls down the dean's face. Undoubtedly, the name flipped a switch in Sammy's mind and caused a powerful hook to the older brother's face. Unprepared for the blow, Dean grunted and hobbled over the conveniently placed bed corner before he toppled onto the floor. Slowly, he had gotten up and realized he cannot recognize the man before him. Sam breathed through his teeth like an attack dog and his shoulders rolled with every shuttering breath. A part of Dean begged for him to stop but he didn't and his anger bubbled to the surface, masking reason. The older Winchester retaliated by winding his arm back and aiming for his brother's face. It connected, and Sam's head was flung backward momentarily. This gave Dean enough time to land another blow with his opposing hand, using Sam's weight to advantage. As Sam rocketed the other way again, his brother twisted his heel and landed an uppercut beneath the floating rips, where the flesh is soft and vulnerable. When he doubled over, Dean instinctively grasped his shoulders as he forced his knee into the same spot he hit before. Only then did he use this force to push Sam off of him and gain momentum for his next move. He rushed forward and attempted to punch his face again, but this proved to be a mistake. Expecting this, Sam retaliated and blocked the blow. As Dean flailed helplessly over the tall man's arm, Sam grasped him firmly enough to nail his face a few times with his knuckles. With the third blow, Dean flew backward and his face clashed with a mirror. Thankfully, no shards impaled his face, but the hesitation only gave Sam the advantage. Dean's mind was clouded by anger, but he remembers faintly he tried again to punch Sam in the face. Before he knew it, Dean was flung into the air and tossed feet from where Sam stood. In a pile of glass, Dean layed there as his brain adjusted to the gravity. However, Sam had different plans. Sam held Dean — gasping for breath— on the floor of the hotel room. The look in Sam's eyes was dark and evil, as his body vibrated with his anger. Dean was thankful that he had let go before the stars ate up his vision.

Soon enough, the impulsive anger consuming Dean's thoughtless actions ebbs away and leaves the man with a pit in his stomach. He shouldn't have talked to Sammy like that, he knows this, yet his swollen pride won't let him admit it. Nevertheless, this doesn't make up for when he walked out of the room, knowing damn well the consequences.

 _"You don't know me. You never did, and you never will."_ Sam's last words echo in his subconscious as he attempts to sit up. However, the task proves too great for Dean's crippled body to commit to, resulting in a groan as he fights to roll over. His vision starts to blur and his ragged breathing increases as if the room suddenly depletes of oxygen. Black stars twinkle in areas just out of his focus until he finds himself slumped back to where he started, his mind whirling as the world starts to fade away into the darkness of his own head.

When the man wakes, he can feel a soft fabric draped over his sleeping body. He hums softly, for he cannot remember the last time he felt so comfortable in his life. His back begins to cramp from being tossed across the room, which results in a roll to his side. _Thrown against a wall?_ Suddenly, his mind snaps back into focus as he realizes this is not the place he fell unconscious. Immediately, the hunter shoots his eyes open and sits up, relieved but shocked when his body is absent of aches and pains. _Was everything that happened just a vivid dream?_ He wonders to himself as he looks around into the dark room.

The room is painted chestnut with gentle burgundy accents placed neatly around the room: like a clock, small tables, and paintings. Dark maroon curtains are drawn against a darker night sky, blanketing the room and leaving objects to be recognizable by the soft silhouette of light from a room down the hallway. To his left lies a door and behind his head stands a red-tinted lamp. Once he grasps the chain and turns the red light on, the hunter finds he isn't in a bedroom like he first thought: looking down, he discovers a jet black couch underneath him whilst a warmly-colored quilt hangs over his body. The floor is made of stained wooden floorboards, which creak softly under the weight of the room; considering the size, he must be in a hotel room. He sits in a small living room, he deduces, as the room adjacent from him is a miniature kitchen. If he knew where he was, this place would seem appealing; moreover, he wouldn't mind staying here again. The only problem he fears is who and what brought him here and why they did so.

To confirm last night's reality, Dean looks underneath the blanket to find his clothes unchanged: even blood stains the collar of his jacket from a small nosebleed Sam inflicted upon him. As confusion presents itself, he looks up to see a figure slowly making its way down a hallway towards him. As he approaches, panic begins to set in and he fiddles with his pockets in an attempt to find his pistol: nothing. He must've dropped it when he was fighting with Sam. The figure's shoulders roll softly and with a slow-paced gait. If he wasn't drowning in anxiety, he would've recognized this uptight stride.

"Hello, Dean." A familiar, gravelly voice breaks the silence, which calms the young man's nerves. Cass appears from the shadows and into the dim red light with his unreadable face. Slowly, Dean's brain comprehends what had happened: Castiel must've arrived shortly after Sam had left and healed him.

"Cass?" Dean blinks into the red-tinted darkness as his eyes adjust to the semi-lit room. "Where the hell am I?"

As his brows furrow in the middle of his forehead, he notices the reason for Castiel's strange figure. The angel had slipped off his dirty trench coat and undercoat, for they lay on a plush chair away from him. His undershirt is buttoned up neatly with the hem tucked into his black dress pants. His outfit looks as sophisticated as his usual speech.

"I brought you to a hotel a few minutes away from your brother's and your... confrontation." The angel replies neatly, slowly making his way towards the couch. His gaze rests on Dean's and its surprisingly soft, as though their last meeting was off his mind. Dean's face holds its initial shock, as he's never seen this side of the angel before. The Cass he knows is demanding; stone-cold. Incidentally, the curious hunter would love to learn more about him and this vulnerable side, but there's somewhere he has to be. Dean must find Sammy before he misses out on the action. Nevertheless, he still has one last question.

"What happened after I uh, you know, blacked out?" Dean fidgets his legs to a comfortable position behind Castiel's back, as the angel was sitting in the edge of the couch. With the question, Castiel cracks a small smile and sits down next to the hunter he's saved multiple times.

"You almost died," he starts simply, like he's used to the notion: "but luckily for you, I was able to use my grace's energy to heal you good as new." The celestial looks over apologetically, and at first, Dean doesn't know why. Then, he explains: "I apologize for not getting there in time."

"Hey, it's okay." Dean nods slowly before he too smiles softly. "I can handle my own..." he pauses, looking up cheekily. "well, mostly."

Castiel breaks the gaze and chuckles softly to himself. The gruff laugh sends a weird sensation of happiness through Dean but he ignores it. He has to focus on the important task at hand.

"Well, thanks for the rescue, really, it means a lot Cass," Dean starts as his voice grows slightly in urgency. The angel picks up on this as he shifts towards the arrogant human, staring deep into his muddled green eyes. His hands are calmly folded into his lap but Dean isn't looking there at the moment. The hunter never understood why Cass likes looking into his eyes so much and why he does as well.

"But I have to go save Samm—" Dean begins, but he's cut off by Castiel as well as his own heart skipping a beat.

"Stay." Cass suddenly moves forward and presses his hand to the young man's chest, leaning in slightly with the gentle movement. Instead of the expected reaction, Dean merely draws his brows together in confusion before he gulps softly. This simple gesture causes Dean's heart to throb in his chest for reasons unknown to him. His pulse quickens and he lacks the knowledge or understanding to why he finds this urgent dominance so attractive. To distract from his pulsating heart, he looks up at his savior's brilliant blue irises, which he finds trained back at him. God those eyes: he feels as if he's drowning every time he gazes into them. But the weirdest thing about it is that he likes this feeling and the endless blue he faces. Suddenly, the angel begins to lean forward, causing unfamiliar anxiety to flutter in the young man's heart. _What the hell is he doing?_ The thought echoes in his mind a million times a second. _Does the angel have feelings for him?_

"You are still weak." His savior passes the man's agape lips to whisper into his ear. _Okay, it's just words, no feelings._ He sighs in his own head. Most of the hunter is relieved to avoid the awkward situation, but deep down in a part of him he doesn't quite understand yet, he somehow feels... disappointed? There's no way; perhaps he hit his head too hard during the fall.

"You should rest, Sam is not of your concern yet," Castiel assures the anxiety-wracked excuse of a man with the best of his ability. Unfortunately, his choice of words leaves the hunter scoffing slowly and pushing Cass back enough for him to see his face. The angel looks genuinely confused and almost concerned for the young man resting before him. It's strange, but maybe Castiel can be more than just a dick with wings.

"My brother is _always_ my concern." The righteous man spits with fury in the face of his heavenly host. On the contrary, the angel simply sighs slowly as he gazes down, as if unable to maintain eye contact. After what seems like an eternity of gaining his composure, royal blue meets moss green and unfamiliar feelings wash over both men —Dean can see the confusion in the angel's eyes— as the staring intensified.

"My apologies, I didn't mean it that way." Cass begins as he shifts his hand from Dean's chest to the couch beside him, in turn causing him to sit up straight. "I meant to say that your brother is _'off the radar'_ as you say. Once we find him, we'll tell you."

The lonely hunter nods slowly as he processes these words. While this may be true, he still feels as if he must do something, even if there is nothing to do. His body language displays his antsiness: he shifts uncomfortably under a deep oceanic gaze.

"The best thing you can do right now is rest up and prepare," Cass explains as he fiddles with a corner of his blanket. His fingers work meticulously on the fabric and soon the hunter starts to wonder what fingers like that can do to his...

Dean shakes his head at the thought in order to clear it. _Where the hell did that come from? Damn, he really_ did _hit his head hard._ He licks his lips awkwardly as the thought passes before realizing only a moment has passed and Cass awaits his agreement. Slowly, the young man nods.

"I guess you're right." Slips from the young hunter's mouth, even if he doesn't agree with the truth. He should be out there looking for his brother, but what good is he if he's not at his best? As for the random thought, Dean dubs it as a fluke of hitting his head: he hasn't picked up a girl in ages and he has to admit, he's been getting a little needy. _That must be the reason,_ he tells himself, but not all of him agrees.

"So how in hell did you find me?" The righteous man changes the subject curiously. The celestial being smiles softly to himself like the question amuses him somehow. But this only lasts a moment before he stares directly back at Dean.

"Do you not remember?" He asks gently as he scans every molecule in the man's face. Both beings are curious about the other; both for different reasons. Dean cannot pinpoint why exactly this being —out of all people— can make him feel things no other woman has made him feel; ever. With any female, it's all lust. Dean has never liked anyone (women, specifically) as more than just a sex partner. But somehow, even if he isn't ready to admit it, the mortal is attracted to the heavenly host's vessel and he's addicted to the calming sensations he gets whenever he's around them.

Returning back from the depths of his mind, Dean shakes his head _'no.'_

"Dean, you _prayed_ for me." The angel says in his se— _deep_ , gruff voice. Hearing these words aloud is enough to tint the womanizer's cheeks a rosy pink as he flushes with embarrassment. Both man and angel know of Dean's lack of faith and life void of prayers since the house fire. He considers praying begging and God knows he doesn't like to beg.

"Pshh, no?" He attempts to deny it, but at the same time, he knows this as true. As a last hope, he had mentally called out to Cass in desperation. It wasn't on purpose, It just... slipped out naturally. Slowly, (and surprisingly to Dean's disappointment,) the angel stands up and straightens his top. He must know arguing with a Winchester is useless, as he changes the subject immediately:

"I have seen humans give this... _'soup'_ to people who aren't feeling well. Would you like to try some?" The angel asks sincerely, but Dean shakes his head.

"No, but thanks, Cass." The righteous man flashes a soft smile before he realizes how uncomfortable his propped elbows are and lies down, furthermore closing his eyes. _What the hell are these feelings?_ Is the first thought to present itself inside of his muddled head. For some odd reason, their moments alone are the most difficult; and that's saying something. Sam Winchester seems to have caught wind of their suppressed feelings, as he always finds ways to tease the pair. When this happens, it's awkward of course, but the worst urges reveal themselves whenever they're alone.

 _~~later~~_

Hours later, the man wakes to a soft prodding on the shoulder. Immediately, his instincts kick in as he jumps up.

"Cass wha—" But the figure isn't his angel friend. Curiously gazing down at him is a tall man with a scruffy beard. His washed out brown hair is hidden under a worn-out navy fishing hat, the cap shading his eyes: Bobby Singer.

"No, but the sonnufa bitch did call me to fet'cha." He reveals in his South Dakotan accent, utter exasperation written on his face (as always). Before he crosses his arms over his chest, he lets a small smile play with his bearded lips. Dean knows all the stress his brother and him have put Bobby under and feels a twinge of guilt; however, now isn't the time for chick flick moments; they have bigger problems. "What in the hell happened to 'ya?"

"I'm good now, and that's what matters." Dean pushes off the question as he stands up with newfound energy. _Maybe Cass was right,_ Dean thought. A good night's sleep and a clear head were all he needs to find his brother and stop him from the seemingly imminent war. Now he knows they have to move, and fast. Although he feels better, he knows they must make up for lost time.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go stop the damn apocalypse"

W/c: 3116

* * *

 **ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?  
** This fills in the plot hole between episode 21 and 22: Dean was in immense pain and he ended up passed out on the floor, yet in the mornign with Bobby, he seemed completely fine. This _must've_ been the work of a healer; Cass. It makes sense, as he still cares for the Winchester. If this was the case, this would've been huge for their relationship. It would be yet another time when the angel saves his life and proves his loyalty to dean despite his chains and binding to heaven. This proves Castiel cares, even if he isn't supposed to.


	10. (S4) Trench-Coat Angel

**[DEAN POV]  
** {S4 E22}

* * *

"Hello, Dean." Comes a voice from behind a young, dirty-blonde haired man. He turns around wildly, as he does not recognize the place he stands in nor how he got here.

A few minutes ago, he stood in Bobby's safe house arguing with the old man who owns it; but as of now, he doesn't even recognize the white marbled walls rimmed with golden trim.

Despite his growing confusion, he marvels the fancy interior and luscious gleaming accents of gold meticulously placed around the room. Allowing his gaze to wander, Dean observes each painting as they sit delicately within their golden frames. His eyes glaze over them until he finds his eyes glued on one in particular: A painting of a handsome man embellished in warm light. Harsh brushstrokes depict a conflicted emotion as he furrows his brows together. His eyes are deeply pigmented, almost as if the artist had dipped his brush into the sky and painted with the waves of the ocean. A trick of the light allows its eyes to sparkle subtly as the hunter's vision gathers to the messy, yet controlled head of hair; each strand is meticulously placed for added effect. His pale skin practically shimmers in a bath of golden light, sharpening his perfectly chiseled jawline and his cheekbones.

It takes another moment for Dean to realize the painting isn't a painting at all; Castiel moves through space as he comes forth from the image in Dean's head with hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. His visage is anything but happy as he stares at Dean and his eyes shimmer like he's hiding some sort of pain.

Only the other day, Castiel had saved Dean from death's grip as his lungs threatened to give out on him. Even though this angel swore his faith to his father above and not to the Winchester brothers, it seems he still cares for them. Nevertheless, the look he shares with Dean now confirms the moments they shared last night is lost. _Where the hell does Cass stand?_ Slowly, the hunter shakes his head in order to stop it from spinning. They have bigger problems to face than his friend's conflicted feelings.

"It's almost time." Staidly, angel breaks the silence with a voice so gravelly, pebbles would be jealous. _What about his voice sends tingles down my spine?_ He asks himself as the heavenly host looks up through azure eyes that pierce Dean's very soul. Daringly, the hunter takes a moment to stare back at his friend; both their mouths hang slightly agape as Dean searches for the words to say. _Fuck you? Thank you?_ His feelings are certainly mixed and no existing words come close to describing how he feels for the other man. The best thing he can come up with is complete and utter confusion.

After moments that last millennia, Cass peels his eyes away from the young man's as he turns away. Snapped out of his heavenly trance, the hunter jumbles for the correct words, glancing down at the floor before speaking: "Cass, Wait."

The angel pauses momentarily as his middle finger rubs the side of his trench coat thoughtfully, seemingly weighing his options. In the end, however, he decides to turn around halfway and peer back at the man he saved. Still, his expression remains hidden by his shoulders and the strands of hair resting lazily upon his forehead.

"Look, I know I haven't exactly lived up to the 'righteous man' title and I sure as hell have made some mistakes," he starts, choosing his words carefully as he takes a step towards his savior. "And I certainly didn't deserve your gratitude. So uh... thanks, man."

With the apology comes a curt nod from Castiel, who turns to look back at the man who lead him to confusion. His wears a poker-face, but Dean can sense something else lying there beyond his straight, soldier-like composition; could it be regret?

"I was only doing my job." justifying his action, he looks down briefly before he could meet the mossy eyes of Dean Winchester again. Perhaps Cass is trying to mask his inner feelings: maybe he does care for Sammy and the righteous man, or maybe that's just wishful thinking. Dean opens his mouth to protest, but then closes it as he realizes that he has nothing to say. He wants to argue with the uptight angel before him; to show him a life of free will; but he knows it's hopeless.

Before another word is even uttered, Cass turns away once again, "I should inform my superiors of your presence."

With a blink, the angel is gone, leaving Dean to explore the place way too fancy for his taste.

 _~~Some time later~~_

"Give me one good reason why I should have faith." Dean huffs in the face of a plump-looking Caucasian man. His sideburns glisten white from overhead lights as he looks disapprovingly at the hunter. His thick brows curve to convey dominance over the situation and his muddy gaze burns deep into Dean's irises. It's not the same feeling he's felt with his friend angel before; he feels raw fear, like the emotion is being drawn out of his head.

"Because you swore your obedience," The plump and dominating angel known as Zachariah says lowly— not a gruff, Cass-like tone, but soft: so soft it's disturbing. "So obey."

Dean cannot meet this angel's eyes like he can Castiel's; as one moment later the hunter finds himself glancing behind Zachariah's shoulder to seek comfort in familiar blue irises. Cass leans against the wall with an expressionless gaze plastered on his face. Momentarily does azure meet forest eyes before they both decide the mental embrace is far too much to maintain. Satisfied with the result of his intimidation, Zachariah speaks again: "If you need anything else, holler."

Without warning, both angels are gone, leaving the Winchester to grumble softly to himself. _Damn angels._ He sighs to himself before walking around the room that seemingly has no end.

Dean knows today is important, this much is obvious. In the beginning, he was told he would be the one ganking Lilith and saving the world; however, if this is true, why is he sitting on the sidelines and being told its 'too dangerous' to leave?

 _Zach you son of a bitch, I wanna talk to Cass._ Dean thought to himself immediately, excusing it as a muddled prayer. Dean figures he can reason with his savior easier than he can with his angel's uptight boss.

Briefly, he leaves his brother an apologetic message on the telephone before continuing back to his pacing. Utterly bored, he finds himself strolling around a hallway until he sees a porcelain angel. She's titanium white, arms stretched open as she gazes down into the empty. Her long dress trails below her feet and her wings extend high above her face. It isn't a big statue, merely about the size of Dean's forearm, but he decides that it bothers the hell out of him. With a flick of his wrist, he watches her fall from her polished ledge and she shatters to a million pieces on the floor. It is at this moment when Castiel decides to show.

"You asked to see me?" He appears from behind the hunter, eyeing the broken pieces of the fallen angel curiously. He looks back up at Dean, who looks down apologetically. He wishes he could explain, but there's nothing to be explained: he simply smashed it because he wanted to.

"Yeah, listen, I, uh, I-I need something." He stutters quickly before looking deep into the angel's oceanic eyes and noticing how they squint against the bright white lights.

"Anything you wish." He responds, leading Dean to hesitate slightly. _Anything? No, Dean, focus._ His subconsciousness threatens but he pushes the thoughts away.

"I need you to take me to see Sam." He responds once he focuses on the reason he called the angel here in the first place.

"Why?" Cass asks, his voice hiding any hint of curiosity that could've been muddled within his tone.

"There's something I got to talk to him about." The hunter responds quickly.

"What's that?" Again, the angel's voice is unfaltering.

"The B.M. I took this morning, what's it to you? Just make it snappy." The Winchester eyes the angel suspiciously and confusedly as the celestial approaches him.

"I don't think that's wise," Cass responds carefully, his gaze turning left as if he's avoiding eye contact with Dean. The hunter bites his lip thoughtfully as he weighs his options.

"Well, I didn't ask you for your opinion." Dean retorts as he dares a step closer to the angel. With lidded eyes, Cass peers back up at him; whether it's because of the light or his annoyance is beyond Dean.

"Have you forgotten what happened the last time you met?" The angel squares his shoulders as he too shifts closer to the man he grasped tight and raised back into the world.

"No. That's the whole point." Dean's voice remains level as he gazes deep into the angel's eyes. Despite his inability to sleep, Castiel appears tired. Dark rims line his eye sockets, deepening further as Cass squints against the harsh white light. The sheen casts a glow onto the heavenly host's vessel, causing his blue eyes to sparkle like waves in the sea. His eyes are so mesmerizing to Dean that he almost forgets the whole point of this argument.

"Listen, I'm gonna do whatever you mooks want, okay? I just need to tie up this one thing. Five minutes — that's all I need." He says, still unsure why he's even explaining himself to the angel. Regardless of the timeless moment, the angel cannot give in.

"No." He says plainly in a voice deep as a valley but soft as a cloud and the gruff tone disappears momentarily when he hesitates. The older Winchester brother takes a minute to study the other man's features, carefully trailing his skin with green eyes until he reaches his lips. They're chapped and not properly kept, as the skin irritates along the bottom lip. Oddly enough, Dean begins to wonder what those lips feel like. You know, just to try it. Katy Perry kissed a girl and you don't hear anyone else complaining that she's gay!

"What do you mean.. no?" Dean narrows his eyes as he shifts his weight. He knows he should be afraid of the angel, but after Cass opened up to him, he feels they are on the same level now. "Are you saying that I'm trapped here?"

"You can go wherever you want," Cass responds as his gruffness returns.

"Super, I want to go see Sam." Dean retorts as his tone of voice becomes passive-aggressive.

"Except there." The angel points out.

"I want to take a walk"

"Fine, I'll go with you"

" _Alone._ "

"No."

The argument progresses quickly between both man and angel before Dean scoffs and shakes his head. "You know what? Screw this noise, I'm out of here."

The hunter brushes past Cass with ease until the angel turns to watch his 'escape.' Nonetheless, the supernatural being is the last to jab: "Through what door?"

Dean turns around stupidly only to realize the door had morphed into a wall.

 _"Damnit..."_ The hunter scoffs to himself before turning to his side and noticing a heavy bronze candlestick, to which he formulates an idea. Picking it up with his right hand, he lunges forward and buries the fat end of the stick deep into the wall where the door had disappeared. After a few hard whacks, splinters flake off in different directions as a hole is left in Dean's destructive wake. However, as he turns to place the candle down, the hole ceases to be.

"Son of a bitch." He mutters to himself before hearing a familiar, hateful voice.

"Quit hurling feces like a howler monkey, would you?" Zachariah stands behind Dean as he turns away to look at him, anger slowly broiling as the angel insults him. "It's unbecoming."

The conversation carries on into important information regarding the apocalypse; the angels _want_ this all to happen. At least, this is what the higher-ranking angels want. _What the fuck? Are these beings mad?_ Dean tilts his head as these thoughts arise. If he understands correctly, under-ranking angels like his friend Castiel would've been uninformed about this information: he genuinely wanted to save the world. Slowly, the puzzle pieces start clicking into place, as he knows he must talk to Castiel and Sam once again.

"...trust me, one day we'll look back on this and laugh." Zach chuckles to himself as he turns away to leave.

"Tell me something," Are words to stop the angel in his tracks. "Where's God in all this?"

"God? God has left the building."

As the smug angel leaves his sight, he leaves Dean dazed momentarily. Despite the pause, he regains his composure quickly and reaches for his phone, flipping open the interface. He dials for Sam more times than he can count, but static is the only return he received.

"You can't reach him, Dean." Castiel's voice appears from behind the hunter, fueling his hatred further. He doesn't understand why he's enraged at Cass, of all people, but he must be mad at someone. The celestial sighs softly as he speaks again: "You're outside your coverage zone."

"What are you gonna do to Sam?" Dean utters flatly as he places his phone back into his pocket. He can hear the angel starting to approach him before he gives out a breathless "Nothing,"

"He's gonna do it to himself." Cass begins to clear the fog from Dean's mind, but much isn't visible. The hunter turns his head to the side and rests his gaze level with his savior's.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks lowly, trying ever so hard to contain his growing anger. In return, the angel looks down as if he's ashamed with himself, leading Dean to bring up the point he dusted off earlier. Silence is the older Winchester's cue to go on. "Oh, right, right. You got to toe the company line." The righteous man approaches his savior; the being who marked his arm; until their faces are a forearm's length apart. Slowly, the angel looks back up and his face morphs with it. Instead of flatness, a hint of guilt hides behind his blue eyes. "Why are you here, Cass?"

"We've been through much together, you and I, and I just wanted... to say, I'm sorry it ended like this." Cass speaks up honestly as he too stares deep into his hunter's eyes. Be that as it may, this isn't enough for Dean— no, he needs more than just an apology.

"Sorry?" He scoffs softly as he raises his brows. With force, his hand comes to shape a fist before it connects with Castiel's cheek. Instead of the soft flesh Dean anticipated, his knuckles come in impact with a solid, steel-like surface. Turning around to examine his injured hand, he gasps softly in pain: _Jesus, this guy is tough._ "It's Armageddon Cass, you need a bigger word than sorry."

The anger finally releases itself from the young hunter's system, turning around to stare furiously into the blueness set before him. "Try to understand — this is long foretold. This is your—"

"Destiny?" Dean finishes as his brows furrow at their crease. He shakes his head softly before he starts to realize something else. He knows that deep down in Cass' little non-existant soul lies doubt, and with doubt can be leverage. "Don't give me that 'holy' crap. Destiny, God's plan.. it's all a bunch of lies you poor, stupid son of a bitch!"

Castiel bites his chapped lips curiously before Dean continues on his rant, his arms gesturing wildly. "It's just a way for your bosses to keep me, and keep you in line!"

There's a slight pause as the hunter lets the information seep into the angel's hardwiring. Cass is quiet in thought as Dean carries on in a lower tone: "You know what's real? People, _families_ — that's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn?"

"What is so worth saving?" The angel finally speaks up as he approaches Dean once more. To the hunter's surprise, his voice, his hard and almost harsh— unlike anything he's ever heard before. "I see _nothing_ but _pain_ here. I see it inside you: I see your guilt, your anger, confusion." With his last words, the hunter gulps slightly. The angel knows his _confusion_? "In paradise, all is forgiven; you'll be at peace," Cass continues as his soft pools of water approach Dean's own forest-like gaze. "Even with Sam."

The hunter licks his lips softly as he formulates his next words. The angel had looked down, obviously ashamed of his own choices; as if his words are barely enough to convince _himself_. His hunter sighs and cocks his head to the side as he searches for the angel's attention. Slowly, Castiel turns back towards Dean and he feels at rest. Despite the tension, both gazers have found harmony resting in the irises of one another. But this calm in the storm only lasts a breath.

"You can take your peace... and shove it up your lily-white ass," Dean says matter-of-factly, leading the angel further into confusion. "'Cause I'll take the pain and the guilt, I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise." Dean shakes his head softly as his voice raises: "This is simple, Cass!" Dean continues to argue as the angel shakes his head and crosses the boundary to misunderstanding. He mustn't understand the purity of human suffering nor the benefits of love. To this, not even Dean knows the answer. His friend cannot process what the hell is going on in Dean's head before he continues on. By now, his back is turned. "No more crap about being a good soldier. There's a right and there's a wrong here, and you know it."

"Look at me!" Dean spits with fury before he reaches out and grips Castiel's shoulder roughly. With force he spins him around, earning in a light gasp from the angel. He certainly isn't expecting this, Dean can see it written on his face. "You know it! And you were gonna help me once, weren't you? You were gonna warn me about all this before they dragged you back to bible camp."

The angel still refuses even a glance into his rescuee's honest gaze. Dean knows he's right by the way Castiel stays quiet, his head sagging off to the side as he finds another human emotion to bear: guilt.

"Help me— now. Please." Dean knows that there was a time where Castiel would undoubtedly follow his superior's orders. He wouldn't feel a thing and he'd know that everything is just. But this Winchester causes feelings the feeble angel could've never imagined: doubt, guilt, shame, pity— everything he has ever known is questioned. This is why the next sentence doesn't shock the hunter in the least.

"What would you have me do?" He inhales deeply as he doesn't dare to lose himself in pleading forest eyes.

"Get me to Sam. We can stop this before it's too late." The hunter shakes his head like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world.

"I do that, we will _all_ be hunted." Cass shifts uncomfortably on his two feet with the mere thought of a rebellion. Ultimately, he finds the courage to gaze into Dean's eyes, which is a wrong that seems so right. "We'll _all_ be killed."

"If there is anything worth dying for... this is it." Dean practically whispers; this is as honest and needy as he's ever been in his life. Yet instead, the angel hangs his head and shakes it softly. It's for a reason hardheaded Dean cannot see nor understand at the moment.

"You spineless...soulless son of a bitch." Anger oozes from each word as the insults spit themselves at the conflicted angel. "What do you care about dying? You're already dead. We're done."

As much as it pains him to, the hunter begins to trudge away from his former friend. After everything they've been through, the dick chooses the easy path rather than the righteous one?

Castiel chokes back his guilt but the whisper still escapes his lips: "Dean—"

"We're done." Dean silences the angel's last plea as he fights to control his inner consciousness: the part of him screaming to keep trying. He always knew convincing an angel to be human was pointless; it's like training a dog to be a lizard. Regardless, even this fact isn't enough to soothe the disappointment etched into his elastic heart.

 **[CASTIEL POV]  
** _~moments later~_

The angel watches from his peripheral as his marked paces the room nervously. Oh, how he wants to comfort him and to betray his morals for him, but there is no point when they face the world.

"What the actual _fuck_ , Castiel?" The booming sound of his superior casts his attention back to Zachariah. "This human thinks that he can just— what? _Stop_ the damn apocalypse?..."

The angel continues on his enraged rant, but Cass cannot seem to focus. Dean's words; his insults; even his inner fears; swim around in his subconscious until he can't think straight. Maybe he was right, maybe they can change their destinies. But then again, maybe he's wrong and they end screwing up the world and leaving thousands more to die? Whatever the answer, it seems the best way to decide is to leap and let the wind take you. Maybe rebellion won't be so bad?

Yes, although faced with a tough decision, the confused angel chooses his gut feeling. Although his coding is screaming for him to stop, he trusts Dean, and he believes he will make the right decision. Whilst distracted with his own babbling, Castiel slips by Zachariah and uses his wings to teleport himself behind Dean Winchester. Slowly, the angel watches him as he picks up a burger, deciding hesitation isn't an option. If this is to work out, they must be swift. Quickly, he rests a firm hand on the man's shoulder before he shoves him to the wall. One hand grips his shoulder while the other comes to cup his mouth. To keep him in place, the angel presses his body against Dean's, surprised when a certain heat begins to build in the man's pelvic region. The hunter barely puts up a struggle when he gazes into the angel's eyes; everything seemingly becoming clear. At the same time, Dean and Castiel's minds are on different objectives.

Slowly, the angel slips the demon-killing knife from his pocket, watching as his hunter glances down at his hand movement. Eagerly, Dean begins to nod, and Castiel takes this as a sign to remove his hand. The angel has no idea about the anime pornos Dean has watched nor how many times intercourse in these films start with one slamming the other to the wall. This is why Dean's face morphs to surprise when the angel takes his knife and slices a deep gash into his own forearm. The warm blood drips to the floor even as the angel dips two forefingers into it and begins to paint. The symbol is not unfamiliar to Cass, but quite new to the confused man beside him. He paints fiercely, as he's quite aware of the little time they have.

"Castiel!" Both men turn to face the wrathful angel who calls his name: Zachariah. "Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?"

Before he can say anything else, Cass slaps his bloody hand on the sigil, resulting in a scream as the angel is banished back into heaven.

"He won't be gone long, we have to find Sam, now." Cass comments as he heals himself and rolls up his sleeves. Dean stares at the angel like he doesn't know what to say. His face reads: _Should he kiss him? Should he hug him? No, he needs to focus._ Despite his obvious confusion, Dean plays along for the sake of time.

"Where is he?" He asks quickly, hiding his sense of wonderment and awe. The guy just sacrificed his entire life for two brothers.

"I don't know, but I know who does." Cass breathes heavily from the heat of the moment. His blood runs with exhilaration as he finally crosses the border between soldier and outlaw; he has finally discovered the righteous path. Slowly, the angel gives the bloodied knife back to the hunter, not even bothering to clean it off as he continues. "We have to stop him, Dean, from killing Lilith."

"But Lilith's gonna break the final seal." Dean meets Castiel's eyes, surprised to find the mixture of emotions comprised there.

"Lilith _is_ the final seal. She dies; the end begins." The angel stresses. "Come, there is no time to waste." Cass reluctantly holds out his hand before Dean takes it, lacing his fingers between bloodied ones. He doesn't recognize this feeling, this... warmth that spreads from his hand throughout his entire body when the simple man holds it. Whatever the cause, the angel decides that he'll figure it out later.

"...Lady, sometimes you gotta love like there's no tomorrow." A tenor-like voice cuts in as the angel teleports them to a messy living room.

Glass bottles litter the floor, leading to an old computer. Pacing the floor is the man who's speaking, his voice escaping him as he notices the two rebels.

"Wait t-t-this isn't supposed to happen.." His hand shakes as he fumbles with the telephone back up to his ear. "No, lady, this is _definitely_ supposed to happen, but I jus' gotta call you back."

He hangs up quickly before staring down the trench-coated angel and his flannelled companion. "I...ttch..." He fumbles with his words before he manages to choke anything out. "What the hell?"

"The location of Sam Winchester. Now, before it's too late." Castiel speaks up gruffly, leading Dean to stare up at him. This isn't the guy he talked to an hour ago; this Cass is assertive, certain of who he is. Castiel has no idea how attractive this is to the righteous man.

Fumbling, the prophet's hands Dean a piece of paper. He eyes it carefully before looking up. "St. Mary's? What is that, a convent?"

"Yeah, but you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story." Chuck Shurley's baffled speech evens out slightly, hands gesturing wildly by his side.

"Yeah well... we're making it up as we go." The angel confesses as Dean looks over at him. Castiel can see the newfound trust blossoming in Dean Winchester's eyes as he gazes up at him with disbelief.

Like on cue, the room begins to shake as a blinding white light sheds through the blinds from the outside. The glass screams and shatters violently and Castiel makes certain of what he must do.

"What? Aw, man' not again!" Chuck yells about the increasing white noise as the room shakes violently. Great, just their luck. Castiel knows this sound well; he can hear its voice. An archangel threatens to obliterate both the rebelled angel and his Winchester companion before they fuck everything up. After all, Cass has other plans.

"It's the archangel! I'll hold him off! I'll hold them all off!" He yells above the commotion of moving objects. He grasps Dean's arm to get his attention, narrowing his sky-blue eyes against the flying sparks. At the moment, the noise mutes out and all that remains is their voices. Their gaze is long held, for they both know what will happen to Cass if he stays. "Just stop Sam!"

Time commences as Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Castiel has already placed his hand on his forehead. The angel flashes an apologetic smile before teleporting Dean to save his brother. With Dean gone, the only thing the angel can do is wait for his imminent destruction. He knows he is no match for such a weapon, but he has to do what he has to. Slowly, the ignorant angel begins to realize Dean's truth: _if anything is worth dying for, this is it._

Slowly, Chuck places a hand on his shoulder. He must know the power of an archangel and how Castiel's grace is nothing compared to it; maybe he even knows Castiel's pained heart with the parting of Dean. But the angel awkwardly looks over at the prophet and he takes his hand away. It's nothing like the warmth he gets from Dean's hand.

 _Dean._ That's the last thing Castiel thinks about before he's blasted with a blinding white light and his body explodes into millions of pieces.

W/c: 5,124

* * *

 **ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?**

This is a critical turning point in Castiel's character, and it proves just how much Dean means to him. After millennia of being alive, this one human is the one to cause him to rebel after so long. Castiel literally throws his entire life away for the sake of two individuals; that's pretty powerful. In the end, this proves Castiel's love (whether platonic or growing romantic) to Dean, as he literally killed himself for him.

 _[So what I usually do in between seasons is a one-shot either correlating to the time in between seasons (if there even is time) or a random dream, vision, something that doesn't correlate to the plot, something like that. Stay tuned!]_


	11. Highway to Hell (E)

_~ ᎢᎬᎪᏚᎬᎡ/ᏢᏞᎾᎢ~_  
ɪғ ᴄᴀss ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴀʟ ᴡᴀs ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ'ᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ? ᴀs ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ, ᴄᴀsᴛɪᴇʟ ᴄᴀɴ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ's sᴜʙᴄᴏɴsᴄɪᴏᴜs ɪғ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛs ᴛᴏ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴀs ʜᴇ ɢᴇᴛs ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴀɴ's ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇʟᴀʏ ɪɴғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ʜᴇ's ɪɴ ғᴏʀ ᴀ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ sᴜʀᴘʀɪsᴇ.  
-_*+*_-

 **[CASTIEL POV]  
** {S4 OS! (one-shot)}

* * *

 _[ѕoмeтιмe aғтer caѕтιel'ѕ reвellιon...]_

Impatiently, a dark-haired man paces on wooden floorboards, each plank creaking softly with every footfall. To his left lies a Caucasian man like himself, but his hair is a lighter brown and the front spikes up slightly under the weight of his fallen head. In comparison to the pacing man's messy strands, the sleeping human is well kept. His hair is trimmed short and stays straight (even considering his sleeping position), his clothes look decently washed, and the strong scent of cologne hints the air around him. The other being wears a dirty trench coat, his blue tie stained with blood and his white collar tanned with dirt. In addition to his appearance, this man hasn't discovered colognes either, for his musk scent fills the air. Ultimately, the sleeping man doesn't mind his scent; he hasn't complained about it at all. Unbeknownst to his companion, he kind of likes it.

Blue eyes dart around the room as the being continues to pace, his senses acute to each noise and silence that lies throughout. He is paranoid, that much is obvious. Just an hour before, he had done something no right-minded angel would've ever attempted: rebellion. He had fallen deep into sin with a simple man destined for greatness: the vessel of God's second-hand man. Strangely enough, he finds himself trusting this human; Dean Winchester is what he's called. Dean is one of two Winchester brothers who started Armageddon with the first seal and who, in time, will end it.

Now, after such a long day, the angel had given into the human's protest to sleep and he finds himself utterly bored. He ponders to himself, wondering where he could retain the information they seek. They must find the location of Dean's younger brother, Sam Winchester, before it's too late. The angel glances down at the sleeping visage of the man he's saved many times before looking over at a neatly set-up table. On it stands a cream-colored lampshade embroidered with silky designs. The being has always marveled over wondrous things humans created, things so delicate and gentle. Next to the lamp sits a pen holder, where one lonely pen sticks out of it. This is the only one in the room, the angel notices. Next to that is a small notepad. Upon seeing the writing utensil and the pad of paper, this angel —better known as Castiel— sparks up an idea. A writer is like a prophet: Chuck.

Chuck is a prophet of the Lord who writes books based on the visions he acquires. Coincidentally, these visions perceive future events usually revolving around the Winchesters specifically. This man should know the location of Dean's brother in his visions.

The rebellious angel smiles softly to himself in triumph, proud and relieved to have finally figured it out. With newfound energy, the dark-haired being basically struts joyously to Dean's bedside before hesitating beside him. He remembers the last time he woke Dean up: it startled him so much, he drew his gun and planted it point blank on Castiel's face. Obviously, the angel doesn't want to spook him again nor wake him without reason; he can tell how sleep-deprived his friend is, which is why he decides that he should let him rest. He can check his Chuck theory himself and relay the information back to Dean. Perfect, now all the being has to do now is send a message in his head. Yes, it would be a lot simpler to leave a note, but the angel has to confess, entering someone else's subconscious is quite a fun and exhilarating experience. Besides, what if Dean neglects to see a note or look around for one? Moreover, he has always been curious about what goes on inside Dean's little and aggression-prone mind; he appears so peaceful when he sleeps.

Castiel lets out a soft sigh as he sits down on the bed adjacent from the hunter. Standing up during this procedure can be potentially dangerous to a vessel, as he's learned the hard way. One time, he woke up and his body had fallen down the stairs.

The angel swings his legs over the bed so that he lay across it, resulting in a turn of his head to face Dean once more. As he closes his eyes to focus, he concentrates his brain's wavelengths to sync with his hunter's. It's a delicate process, as it does take moments for him to slip into a blissful state and drown in the darkness.

In due time, he lands safely in a room where maroon satin curtains his front view. The last time he had entered Dean's head, the hunter had been fishing calmly on a dock on a bright spring day. Where could he be now?

He looks around curiously before his hands come to fiddle with an uncomfortable piece of fabric. Surprisingly, when his hand meets with bare skin, the angel looks down in confusion. Castiel's chest is void of his shirt, yet his tie still remains intact; it still hangs limply and sprawled across his chest. Looking down further, he notices that his pants are shortened quite a bit and comprised of a stretchy fabric ending just above his knees. Other than these changes, his wardrobe remains the same; his teak, dirty trench-coat drapes over his shoulders and oddly, his shoes are still fit comfortably around his feet.

A wave of awkwardness washes over him before he ties his trench coat up to mask his exposed skin. Something about the exposure causes strange feelings, in which he doesn't like.

Seeing the situation is dealt with, the angel surveys the room. The area around him is cramped: Castiel would be able to stick his arms out beside him and have his fingertips touch the wall. Only a dim little light illuminates the dark space as the angel looks around wildly. As he busies himself in trying to find Dean, he doesn't notice the curtain rising behind him. Only when he turns full circle does he notice this and smiles at the figure before him. Dean sits in a plush orange chair, surrounded by women in stereotypical devil costumes. The strangest thing about this is the costumes: they seem to be.. cut off. Parts are missing in certain areas and the realization sends a small shiver down his spine.

"Dean?" The angel speaks up a little, perking Dean's head up and towards his direction. The girls don't stop what they're doing, all three moving differently around his friend's muscular physique. The blonde one wears a red thing covering her chest, which is the only part of her body visible as she stands behind Dean's chair. Her hands move through his hair and down to his shoulders in a deep massage. The brunette leans over the side of the couch as her hand moves up and down the man's thigh; she wears barely anything. The other Asian, who had been kissing his neck, had looked up with Dean's tense movement. He is surrounded by beautiful girls, each caressing his body tentatively, but his attention stays focused on his angel. Slowly, the man stands up.

"Cass.." he sighs breathlessly; almost dreamily as he turns around and waves the ladies off. Slowly, the man approaches his savior, who is now frozen in surprise.

Dean's shirt has been removed, revealing his rippling muscles as he strolls forward. His body is jacked nonetheless, and for some reason, this creates a light fluttering within the angel's chest. His bottoms comprise of jeans and a black belt, which is undone slightly by the brunette.

His gaze is set directly on the azure eyes peering back at him, and Castiel can swear that he feels an unfamiliar sensation resonating deep in his gut.

"Dean, I need to tell you something of impor—" But before he can finish, the hunter decides to have other plans. He shoves Castiel, but only enough to break off his sentence and send him stumbling backward. The angel attempts to step back after the initial blow but instead greets the cool surface of a wall. Although he doesn't know it, his face is flush; redder than the darkest rose.

"Cass, shut the fuck up." Dean responds in a husky, needy voice as he presses his hand into the angel's chest. When he leans forward, the lustful hunter drags his hand down to the tan overcoat's tie, jerking the knot apart and exposing the bare skin underneath. Dean must be thinking he's making this 'dream Cass' up, for his hands softly caresses the angel's bare sides in a way he's never done before in the real world. This only poises the question Castiel is too flustered to ponder; _why_ would he willingly seduce an imaginary Cass?

The dark-haired man shutters lightly—but it's not a bad shiver. Somehow, the angel feels... nice. To this, Castiel is speechless. He knows very well of Dean's control over everything in this mini-universe of his mind. If he were to fight back, it would only lead to an awkward situation and perhaps an awkward encounter in the real world.

"Dean I—" The angel is cut off when his lips connect with those of a human's; a forbidden embrace shared through unlikely friends. Dean's mouth is wet and warm against Cass' chapped lips, so hot against them it's soothing. The waves of heat pulse within a heartbeat, like little explosions of fire fought down by the angel's code. He shouldn't be feeling this, but somehow, he can't help it. As the kiss lingers on, Castiel flutters his eyes closed before their embrace ends all too quickly, hence leaving the angel gasping like an idiot as Dean backs away an inch. This is wrong, this is so so wrong. An angel cannot share intimate moments like this with a human; especially rebels like this Winchester. He tells himself his submissive state is only for Dean's case, but he knows how incorrect he is when realizing deep down how much he misses his lips already.

"I _said_ , shut up." Dean repeats in a low, growl-like voice after he leans closer to Castiel's ear. Their bodies are mere inches apart, so close that the virgin angel can feel Dean's belt buckle brush against his naked abdomen. With this simple movement, Castiel decides to throw away his morals: to take the Highway to Hell. Perhaps in this dream world, it doesn't count?

Nevertheless, it's not like Castiel is in control of his body. The angel grips Dean's shoulders and shoves him so they flip positions, pressing his body closer to his hunter all the same. He has no idea what the hell he's doing, but God, the warmth of a human body against his own is enough to send sparks of electricity throughout his entire being. These feelings... they must be what Dean wants him to feel. This couldn't possibly be real emotions; real _lust_. Dean looks up at Castiel with a smug smirk on his face before he slowly moves his hips against their pressed bodies. The angel gasps softly as a new feeling blossoms deep in his crotch, a warmth that craves more of this sin. The rebel leans in and presses his forehead to Dean's as he exhales softly, his eyes never escaping hungry, green irises. Dean leans in and bites his savior's lip when his large hands ghost over Castiel's waist. Both man and angel close their eyes momentarily to savor the moment as eternity lingers on. However, when Castiel's eyes open again, the scenery has changed.

They now stand in a red bedroom similar to the couple's suite Castiel had brought the injured man to after saving his life. Castiel notices the room is littered with candles, rose petals, and other romantic lights as the rest of the room is bathed in darkness. _Wow, I did not know Dean is such a hopeless romantic._ Cass notes to himself.

The angel takes a millisecond to absorb the place in before his lips crash right back into Dean's. As the heat rages on, the hunter aggressively rips off Castiel's trench coat before his hands come to grip his ass over his spandex shorts. A small squeeze results in a timid squeak from the angel.

"Up." He commands roughly, however the naive angel doesn't understand sex nor the concept of it. All he has to go off of are these complex feelings he shouldn't even have.

"Excuse me?" Castiel pulls away momentarily to look at Dean with innocent blue eyes. The dirty blonde's face is dimly lit, illuminated in dim pink light; his handsome features are softly outlined by the flames. Noticing his ignorance, Dean chuckles softly.

"Jump, just trust me." He smirks a little with the husky whisper, in which rewards him with a curt nod. Hesitantly, Castiel jumps before he's caught by the strong arms of the man he rebelled for. Dean grunts a little against the angel's weight as he cups his ass with his muscular hands. Castiel bites his lip nervously when Dean looks up at him, his mouth agape in awe. _Why does temptation feel so amazing?_ Is a question the angel can never answer himself.

"Dean.. this is wrong." He mutters softly as the hunter walks forward and dumps him on the bed. Time pauses momentarily as they lay there, a simple man on top of an angel of the Lord. Dean's hands surround Castiel's face and his handsome figure looms over him, but there is too much space in between them. Oddly, Castiel longs to fill the gap between them both — to disregard the thing Dean calls 'personal space.'

"I don't care, I _want_ you." The man leans in as he lets his lips brush Castiel's earlobes. With the new, tingling sensation numbing his sense of reason, the innocent angel bucks his hips slightly and his spine tingles with anticipation. With the movement, his crotch brushes Dean's hard erection in a semi-teasing manner. This results in both men to hum softly.

"Dean... I have no idea what I am doing." His angel confesses as his face ignites in a deep crimson. Instead of doing something sexy or dominating, Dean merely leans down and kisses Castiel's forehead gently.

"I won't make you do something you don't wanna do." To the angel's surprise, he replies in a deep whisper, any sense of lust gone with the wind. If he couldn't read his mind right now, he would've never sensed Dean's painfully lust state.

"I-It's not that I don't want to, I just don't—"

"Cass, stop blabbering or I'll make you." Dean's tone returns to sensual, a growl-like whisper that grazes the angel's virgin ears as he consents. To his own surprise, Castiel finds himself smirking:

"I'd like to see you try."

With the statement, Dean leans down eagerly and his lips lock with his angel's. It's almost as if their lips were made for the other: they fit perfectly and leave enough room for their tongues to slip through. Dean lies on his elbows, overbearing on the shorter angel as he grinds his hips against the angel he's fallen for. By now, the angel has given up any sense of fight, as if his subconscious numbs under uncontrollable lust. Even if he has no idea what he's doing, the feeling alone is enough to send him over the edge; to let his vessel's human instinct take over.

The mortal man presses his hips down on Castiel as his hands run through his messy dark hair. In response, a low moan escapes the angel's lips as he grinds his erection into Dean's. The pleasure is unmeasurable; like a flame igniting itself in his lower abdomen. The fire is hungry, fueled by the touch of the other man. He can tell Dean feels this fire as well because soon the remainder of their clothes are on the floor. Castiel doesn't remember how this happened, nor how they ended up in this position.

The angel sits on the edge of the bed staring down at the man he saved. Dean kneels between his legs as his hands caress his thighs lovingly. Castiel has never seen this famished look in the man's eyes before, it's almost rabid: like a wolf. He stares at his angel's erection like a starving dog does a juicy piece of meat.

"D-Dean.. what are you doing?" Castiel stutters softly as the man before he licks his lips. His gaze flits from the large cock inches from his face to nervous blue eyes. In response, a gentle kiss is placed on the angel's abdomen.

"I'm gonna teach you a little somethin.'" Dean whispers against Castiel's belly before dragging a long finger down the front of his abdomen. The angel hitches a breath in surprise, absorbing the wonderful sensations that come out of it. The naive celestial begins to wonder when the foreplay will end before he feels something warm and wet wrap itself around his cock head, the heat expanding from his crotch and outward.

"D-Dean..!" Castiel grunts as his legs widen against the wet sensation. He looks down and watches as the mortal man— Mr. Womanizer — shoves the rest of his erection in his mouth. _So that's why he can swallow food whole..._

As a result, the flustered angel collapses backward onto the bed and grips the sheets, holding back every urge to scream and moan this man's name to the heavens. He knows there will be a great punishment for this sin, but at the moment, he doesn't really care; all that Castiel wants right now is Dean.

Soon, Dean's bobbing head gets the best of him, as he yells out and squeezes his eyes shut. His climax is approaching, and fast. At least, that's what he thinks this is. With the scream, Dean finds the motivation to move faster on both his head and within his own hand as he jerks himself off. The world disappears into a flash of white as the pressure builds and builds until...

Castiel wakes up with a harsh grunt, sitting up in time to feel himself soil his pants. Panting and still trying to recover from the heat of the moment, the angel turns his head towards Dean's bed. He had sat up as well, huffing down at his pants as he too empties himself. _Oh god, what the hell am I supposed to say?_ The angel bites his lip with the thought.

At that moment, Dean turns his head and looks at Castiel in a way he's never done before. He's embarrassed, for his face is red and his mouth comes to bite his bottom lip as well. It's obvious he's noticed the bedspread beyond Castiel, for he chuckles slightly.

"Well uh.." Dean begins, his right hand supporting his weight as he reaches up and scratches the hair behind his head. "So that happened."

"Dean... I.. I apologize. I shouldn't have invaded your mind like that." Castiel sighs heavily before he stands up and looks back at the cloudy substance swimming on the sheets. His voice is shameful; almost sad. He wants more than anything for Dean to be happy, but he knows he cannot provide that for him. He has pseudo-feelings, a disappointed father, and the lack of equipment required to love. Dean deserves more. "I should go clean myself up."

Before the hunter could intervene, the angel walks away to the bathroom. Sooner or later, they would have to discuss this. But for now, their feelings lie buried in the depths of their minds.

Castiel believes they should forget about this experience, especially since Dean can do so much better than a celestial incapable of feelings.

Dean, on the other hand, is a little crushed, he believed that they shared something in the moment, but he was obviously mistaken.

This is why they stay silent as they clean their messes and prepare for the fight of their lives.

This is why the dreaded conversation is postponed to never.

This is their secret love; to themselves, they _lie._

* * *

 _W/c; 3532_


End file.
